Weep You No More Sad Fountains
by Merthur Dreamer
Summary: You cannot say to the sun, 'more sun.' You cannot say to the rain, 'less rain.' They were bound, in life, to be separated. But by some extraordinary kindness, destiny gave them a chance to be happy. For these are not memoirs of an Emperor, nor are they memoirs of a Queen. No. These are memoirs of another kind.
1. Protection

**I may be rusty, but I really do wish to give Merlin and Arthur's relationship something special. The title of this story is taken from an old poem/song by John Dowland. I thought it was fitting for reasons to be revealed both now and later. The format of this story will be as thus: 12 Chapters, each will have its own theme/event with an accompanying quote or poem. This was written for the Merlin Big Bang 2013 - so is on my LJ too. So, without further ado; here we go...**

**XxXxX**

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 1**

**Protection**

'All this feels strange and untrue  
And I won't waste a minute without you  
My bones ache, my skin feels cold  
And I'm getting so tired and so old'

**Open Your Eyes, Snow Patrol**

**XxXxX**

'It's been spotted, Sire!' was the declaration of a knight bursting through the councils' doors with no sense of decorum or regard for the meeting he'd just interrupted; somewhere in his features deep down was the hopeful sighting that the importance of such a message would excuse him from his unbecoming haste.

Merlin's thoughts of an afternoon of chores were hopefully put on hold as he glanced to see the King, his once handsome face falling in the direction of time's compass, indeed ignore the knight's cry and take the news as if it were delivered on a battle field.

Merlin was patiently standing to the right side of Arthur's chair by the pillars behind him, thus, he couldn't see his facial expression (and if this news was of any importance to _him)_ and if it even made sense due to the lack of content. However, spending many hours this way gave Merlin the opportunity, which he took with self-surprising subtle vivacity, to study Arthur's figure and to understand him, in at least matters of the court, without needing to see a face.

Arthur's shoulders indeed did seem to slump and his entire head turned and lifted.

Merlin then realised that he had no idea as to what this news _was _despite the urgency it swept over the faces of the court and the accompanying atmosphere.

He supposed that he should listen to the further discourse that was bound to follow.

'Where was the beast sighted?'

_A beast? _Thought Merlin, _Threatening Camelot? Surely the King would send a scout patrol at least into the woods or wherever it was meant to be instead of a search party._

'Northwest of the abandoned barracks, just on the outskirts of that forest'

Merlin turned from the panting knight, whose breathing problems must have been due to the hush it was to converse on such a matter, and looked upon the King. He placed a gloved hand around his chin as if to cover a secret from prying eyes and his brow seemed to frown, casting a shadow of sorts over his aged eyes.

Merlin was most intrigued.

'Has the entire party returned?'

Merlin was shocked out of his study of the King by Arthur's sudden voice breaking the tension, Merlin realised, that was occupying the room. Merlin turned his attention to Arthur now and saw in his shoulders a position of muscle, ready to snap into a vigorous movement.

'Yes, we thought it best. Such a beast would need a stronger opposition and there were only five of us in total.' The knight confirmed with his breath fully in his lungs once more; the sweat on his brow now almost completely gone.

_What type of beast was this? _Merlin pondered in silent wonder.

But before Merlin could list any sort of fantastic beast to join such a fantastic reaction, Arthur's voice once again made itself known, with an edge of authority which gave the perceiver a sense of gentle command.

'Father,' Arthur turned to place full attention on the meditating King, 'I believe I should track the spirit.'

_A spirit? _Merlin's playfully anticipated thoughts were now graced with a fog of horror. He knew of the King's hatred of magic - if you didn't know you could be considered a simpleton - but there was only one spirit that could cause such uproar and be so elusive. Merlin could only think of one that would fit such a demonstration - and he prayed that Arthur didn't want to hunt it.

He was better than that. Surely a Prince of Camelot knew its ancient symbolism in the least, if the spirit even _existed!_

From his own apperception, Merlin realised that the King was about to reject Arthur, however, the Prince took on a more rock like voice and an even firmer stance, locked collarbones and persuasive arms outstretched as if to smooth the reason of his next argument.

'The Forest Spirit is a secretive and proud creature, according to its legends. A party larger than five would scare the beast off and the patrol would always be fruitless. If it _is _responsible for the bad harvests in the outer villages then let only me investigate. My skills are above any others and I won't need any protection. The spirit is a docile creature.'

Merlin was almost stunned. The Prince certainly had given this topic some consideration and the little speech of responsibility did convey his interest.

_Bad harvests? _Surely this was an excuse just to hunt the spirit. Merlin could now recall from what he read that if the head was severed off the spirit, and someone drank the blood from its neck; immortality would be the result. Merlin realised the danger they were in, for what the others didn't know was that, if such a task was carried out, they would be judged as an omen by the Old Religion and would be disposed of by... "natural occurrences".

Clearly the King wasn't superstitious.

What interest Arthur would have with a magical beast was beyond Merlin at this point. He was still trying to process that the Prince wasn't entirely ignorant to where such delicate matters were considered. Real or not, The Forest Spirit was a firm guardian in the Old Religion and to disturb such a great being, to even consider such an act that was beyond sensibility pouring into the impossible, would cause such outcry.

Uther then spoke with surprising ease, only a small fragmentation of his desperation cleverly concealed behind his grey eyes. Merlin prayed that they weren't _truly _serious in hunting the spirit.

'You will take your manservant with you.' Merlin tried to hide his bewildered scoff of disbelief with an attempt at a cough. Thankfully nobody seemed to deem his actions worthy of attention.

'Of course.' And Merlin now saw that Arthur's line of back was more relaxed, relieved even. Merlin understood that Arthur would do anything to please the King, but tracking and slaying an innocent beast, just because of fear or greed was injustice, and Merlin had a sinking feeling that maybe Arthur was blinded by his need to please this time, his conscience no longer a factor in such decision-making.

'I'll give you three days before I expect a report. _When _you find it, kill it by any means necessary. I will not allow such a beacon to _caper_ around my woods causing trouble. _Three _days, Arthur, and that is all.' Merlin felt a cold flush by the King's sudden turn of attitude and direct proposal.

Arthur thanked him for his trust; the meeting continued as if nothing happened, the lone knight by the doors now being taken away to be comforted back into high society and his normal duties.

Merlin however, could not excuse his mental absence to whether there were too many slacking labourers in the lower town repairing the eastern wall, but to the sheer madness of Arthur's task and the severity of it.

Merlin looked to his master as if he could implore sense and understanding to Arthur, show that this was unwise and would cause more damage than the harm they were trying to 'prevent'; but he was struck by Arthur's shoulder blade movements - especially in the way Arthur restrained them.

**XxXxX**

It was now the morning after the meeting in the council chambers, and Merlin hadn't been able to shut an eye due to the entire dire situation that he and Arthur now found themselves in. He'd spent most of the evening conversing with Gaius over the stupidity of such actions and the old man agreed with him, pushed that Merlin do something to prevent Arthur if he did in earnest intend to harm the creature; but Merlin had been deliberating over how he could encompass such an action, or even put forward his argument to such a stubborn and headstrong man such as Arthur. Eventually his body won over his mind and he was able to at least spend some hours in the harmony of sleep.

He woke feeling less agitated, the morning sun putting him in good spirits; however feelings of unease were still present within his abdomen.

Currently, Merlin found himself waiting in Arthur's chambers for the Prince to adjust his clothing, secure his belt; their supplies and horses awaiting them in the courtyard.

While Merlin was deep in thought in how to persuade Arthur, the Prince started the very conversation himself.

'What is it, Merlin?'

The young man snapped out of his reverie, looking up to find an amused Prince, correcting the placement of the gear on his belt. A smirk covered the most part of Arthur's face, portraying that maybe Merlin had been staring, somewhat dumbfounded. But there was a hint of seriousness within his pupil that Merlin found directed right into his soul.

Merlin prepared his throat for speech and continued as thus:

'I don't think you'll find my opinion agreeable.'

At this Arthur's face rose with his eyebrows to deliver an expression that Merlin found meant that he should just be out with it. However Arthur spoke next, relaxing his face, returning to his abandoned ministrations.

With an aloof air but fond tone Arthur said, 'But I find your silence more disagreeable and almost disturbing.' He raised an eye to Merlin and the young man found that purposeful demeanour on his Prince, the one that would only be satisfied if Merlin gave himself and his thoughts entirely.

Merlin therefore remained silent, half in jest and half because he hadn't been able to prepare such a speech to articulate he thought this entire expedition was all in favour of the King's own ambition.

But Arthur, as always, would have none of it.

'Come,' he said, playing the part of friendly, 'Tell me. I'm at least trying to be interested.' With this statement the Prince gave Merlin a cheeky grin that he so rarely saw and that a part of Merlin hoped was only saved for him. He praised Arthur's efforts; a Prince shouldn't care about a servant's opinion anyway, but Arthur was being persistent. Merlin had to try something.

He paused, unable to think of something that wouldn't be ruining the juncture completely. Moments with caring Arthur were hard to come by. 'I don't think it wise to pursue the spirit.' Merlin uttered with firm purpose, albeit with tentative design.

Arthur just carried on his actions until he was finished, keeping Merlin waiting until in the courtyard. Reaching to mount his stallion, Arthur's eyes found Merlin's before Arthur could pull himself up. With a lamentable smile, he said quite simply:

'I thought it might be something like that.'

**XxXxX**

They had been travelling through the forest neighbouring Camelot for about half an hour, had galloped through a couple of meadows for good measure and had stopped by a stream to give both horses time to rest. Again Merlin found opportunity to let light onto what the purpose of this outing was, now that he found Arthur in good humour. Under the forest canopy, everything from the trunks of the trees to the smallest snowdrop, were darkened in a shade of deep green. Where the sunlight did penetrate the treetops were frequent patches of irregular yellows that swayed in the breeze as the leaves danced. Such patches of sunlight passed over Arthur and Merlin as their horses trudged through the shallow undergrowth. Such cobbles of sunlight gave Arthur a pleasing expression and a relaxed brow, his eyes bright, though strangely carefree.

Merlin felt that their riding had come to a natural pause for rest and pursued in his quest.

'Arthur.'

'You're not still worried about this spirit are you?' Arthur quickly remarked back and threw Merlin a childish glint of eye as if Merlin was exaggerating.

Merlin took offence to this, mildly of course, but the fact Arthur wasn't even paying this ride proper attention irked something within him.

'You do realise what _exact _legends are connected with The Forest Spirit?' Merlin said with rock sturdiness of manner. Arthur merely sighed.

'I'm sure you're about to enlighten me,'

Merlin frowned where Arthur softened in expression and temper.

'The Forest Spirit is a sacred animal that represents the balance between the Earth and humans. It symbolises harmony itself. To hunt it is disrespectful and insolent. Despite its connection to magic it can do no harm. If we continue like this we are sure to upset that balance and the people who the spirit is held dearest by are sure to _revolt. _Eternal damnation is for anyone who slays it!' Merlin paused for breath and didn't realise why or how he'd become so angry so quickly. To rectify himself he concluded with a casual beat of, 'Besides, it probably doesn't exist anyway, only true in legend; where it belongs, untouched: you, especially as a Prince, should uphold and respect all that your subjects believe, whether you think them evil or misguided otherwise. And anyway; it only shows itself to those it believes worthy, again, assuming its actuality.'

Arthur's manner hadn't changed much during Merlin's discourse. The Prince's disposition of appearance was shocked that Merlin had outspoken so - his eyes once again wide and his lips drew up as if to stop some laughter. Merlin was just thankful he hadn't been shouted down.

'So you believe one of the knights was lying then?'

Merlin was surprised by this response and tried to gather his derailed wits, expecting a thorough reminder of his place in society, more importantly to Arthur.

'No, No!' he stammered, 'Only mistaken.'

'And that this whole _hunt _is misguided also? Is my father to be so ill judged, Merlin?'

Merlin tried for words, however when the letters felt right, Arthur continued with a hesitant pause in his air now, which stopped Merlin altogether.

'I didn't realise you worried so much about my conduct, Merlin.' Maybe the statement was meant for a playful tone; however there was a grave something hidden beneath the snow.

What Merlin said next came naturally.

'No, I don't. Only it's affect on the Kingdom. And you.'

Arthur was riding slightly ahead so Merlin could only make out that half of Arthur's face had fallen in thought.

Merlin very rarely found himself in a position where he didn't know what to do.

However Arthur sighed, as if shifting some great weight on his shoulders, and started conversing about what Merlin had in mind for a meal; _he_ certainly wasn't cooking.

**XxXxX**

The evening and accompanying night was filled with their natural banter and play on words. Arthur seemed entirely unaffected by what they discussed earlier. This troubled Merlin for two reasons: one, he wasn't sure whether what he said had gone through or not, two, if he had offended Arthur to be treated with such normalcy. He knew the latter was preposterous to dwell on, for Merlin felt warm with Arthur's words, however it was dwelled on nonetheless.

Sojourned on so much in fact that the next day it was all Merlin could think about.

That was until, within a glade of thin emerald grass, engulfed in mustard yellow light that carried the dust of life in such a way it glowed, there stood a stag with tree branches for horns, a painted mask for a face and a coat of fur the colour of ermine.

Merlin was caught in a daze, but quickly looked to Arthur, grabbing his wrist before pulling him into the cover of a neighbouring bush, the horses by the nearby stream to water.

He didn't care for social barriers now, only that Arthur realise the good within him, that Arthur see the fatality of this conquest. He didn't know what was going through Arthur's mind but he needed to protect the spirit.

'Arthur, _please_,' this was said with unhidden panic, pent up unreserved pleas, 'you have to understand that the-' However, before Merlin could continue in this fashion of almost begging, Arthur released himself from Merlin's hold, staring at him with annoyance; not annoyance at Merlin's impertinence, but his complete lack of understanding. In his expression Merlin saw raw feeling of passion.

'Merlin,' Arthur spoke with almost mock symmetry of Merlin's idiom. 'Do you really believe that I'd kill this beast? I know I'm a huntsman _Mer_lin, but do you honestly think that I have no sense of propriety in my character, no judgement of honour? Why do you think I asked to be placed on this quest specifically? I wanted to ensure its safety!'

Merlin saw Arthur's blue eyes earnest, the pupils disbelieving that Merlin could have misjudged him so; Merlin felt that like a twist of a knife.

_Of course_ Arthur was better than that.

For his foolishness and lack of concentration in Arthur, Merlin felt himself flush; feeling an unfathomable urge to plead for Arthur's forgiveness.

Arthur stared at him angrily for a while longer, eyelids then coming down as he sighed and stilled his temper, his jaw relaxed from its stiff posture. He turned away.

'I wanted...' Merlin was further held speechless by Arthur feeling the need to explain himself. Arthur's shoulders were set and even through his chainmail, his posture grand; a complete comparison to the soft, vulnerable voice that was escaping him now.

'I wanted to see it.'

On maybe any other day, Merlin would have been surprised by such a declaration of clarifying character and purpose, but after properly evaluating their current situation, placing all of his judgments of Arthur, rumour dissolving under the gravitating influence of Merlin's own experience with the man; he found himself believing Arthur whole-heartedly, regretting giving into his own anxiety and prejudice.

He must have held such a forlorn look of self-loathing, for the next thing he was conscience of was Arthur's eyes in range and alignment with his own, a couple of metres apart, a sort of sighing superiority in Arthur's gaze which told Merlin to just stop thinking and start feeling. With this unspoken commandment, Arthur walked slowly to the beast and proceeded to treat it as if it were a mare in need of breaking.

The Prince approached cautiously, with a calm temper, unsheathing his sword and placing it on the ground carefully. Once allowed closer contact, Arthur held and touched the spirit's face as if it were a treasure: not a prized horse that he won or the finest silk, but a gift.

By this Merlin felt pleasant tranquillity.

He learned from the Unicorn then.

The idea that the Prince had pre-meditated and subtly gone against the King's wishes put Arthur in a new light for Merlin. This change in heart was only further assured by the consideration, thanks and peace in Arthur's iris, the sheen of his eye, the relaxation in his brow. Merlin understood within his own heart that he knew this was the real Prince, one that he now truly believed Arthur was only exposing to Merlin, not because he had to, but because he trusted him.

With this unspoken gift, Merlin caught himself smiling at the picture; pleased that his estimation of Arthur being honourable and respectable, honest and a man of integrity was heart-warmingly true.

It was during this reflection that the Prince then spoke with an amusement of sorts, 'Do you realise, Merlin, that you look completely ridiculous just gaping? It doesn't bite.' Arthur disarmed Merlin of any remark by flashing him a quick smile to accompany the previous statement. Merlin approached the spirit and Arthur with all the quiet slowness Arthur had shown, still aware that he could scare the beast away. Arthur only scoffed at Merlin's mannerisms.

When he was within a distance so that he could stroke the beast and appreciate the significance of such an encounter, Arthur reached down, clutched Merlin's wrist and began to guide it to touch the other side of the beast's head. The spirit's eyes blinked lazily, the dull sound of the lens moistening echoing imperceptibly. It seemed to radiate an almost ethereal glow of heat, of life. Merlin was so caught in this sudden trance that when he looked up, responding instinctively to an invisible intensity on his face, he found that Arthur was looking at him, almost as if studying him. Merlin was once again speechless, almost breathless, by the way in which Arthur seemed to look at him. It was as if Merlin was blind, unable to see Arthur's concentration; however, his nose was not taught as if looking closer, in fact, Arthur was quite the contrary, with a peaceful blaze beneath his skin, maybe finding something different as to what he expected.

Merlin truly felt at peace within himself in those moments, and, despite Arthur being his master, thought it best to smile something soft.

But abruptly The Forest Spirit dashed for the outskirts of the glade to be seen no more.

Clouds moved over the sun.

Merlin and Arthur were equally confused as to the sudden panicked movements, but all doubts were evaporated to show a clear precipitate.

The dull cries of approaching bandits were heard, twigs snapping underfoot; suddenly the party of two were being encountered by an ambush.

With Arthur's sword abandoned on the forest floor, it was of too great a distance to retrieve it without being hit with a blow, and in Merlin's shock he felt himself outside of time.

However, Arthur, with the same speed of a fleeing doe, grasped Merlin roughly by the shoulder and instructed him with all the haste of authority he could muster for them to run.

Merlin's feet were taken by surprise, but thankfully despite this were able to start a pace that was equal to Arthur's and rivalled that of the bandits. Axes and arrows whizzed through the air, only to be held captive by the ground with a dull thud, or locked in chain by the cracking of trucks.

Merlin's breath came in short, shallow starts, his thighs burning in the agony of being forced to run in vigorous movements when they had been locked so still. The burn extended to his bones by the time he and Arthur burst forth into an area by a cliff that was unseen due to the thick foliage of the vegetation around them, but just as they neared this hanger, both simultaneously trying to figure a way out of their current predicament, Merlin heard a fatal growl of sheer pain vibrate his brain, thus piercing his heart with its own share of fear.

When he looked back he found Arthur collapsed on the meadow, thrusting an arrow that had become so deeply embedded within the layers of his calf muscle. Merlin felt his face break out in a cold sweat upon seeing his Prince crouched in such an agonised position, kneeling with his face contoured as if all the tendrils of his features were being driven inward by a chain.

When the foreign appendage had been removed, Merlin realised the full extent of Arthur's fate: the tip was shrouded with a purple liquid with the transparency of oil - and Merlin saw upon Arthur's damp features that the poison was having instant effect; his limbs became weak and his face as if he was tired, fighting an illness maybe, eyelids fluttering closed and losing the battle to be propelled open. His jaw was lack and lost all life, followed by his almost immediate decent had not Merlin crouched to support him as he tried to stand.

With the bandits only metres away, and the Prince heavy in his arms, Merlin burst forth through all his anxiety as if breaking the surface of water and looked down the cliff to see a welcoming lake. Before reason could restrain his thoughts, Merlin fell back, taking the Prince with him over the edge.

**XxXxX**

The water was sudden and the same consistency as liquid ice may have. It was all consuming; luckily Merlin was able to navigate through the torrent of fear and not be chilled by despair. He made his eyes open and grabbed Arthur by the pits of his arms, pulling them to break the surface.

He gasped and felt Arthur against his chest try for a similar action, cool air a welcome guest in his lungs despite its bitter gift of stinging sensations. Merlin blinked profusely through the shaking world the water was creating and with all his might tried swimming to the base of the cliff with Arthur safely secured in his torso.  
He fought against the feeling of his bones snapping from their sockets at the weight of Arthur; with the added effect the water had; its intention to tease them down and sink them, to keep them in its lair of murky depths. Merlin could only hear the rush of his beating heart, the air escaping his throat to be brought back in with an equal animation one experiences in times of great bewilderment and alarm.

When the bandits seemed to deem joining them in the black depths unacceptable, or that the chase was now unworthy of further attention (and Merlin himself waited as to please his nerves that they would not be seen); Merlin resumed the combined effort of treading water, swimming and labouring Arthur in his arms until they reached the shore.  
His clothes clung to him as to draw him down and suffocate his skin, but he prevailed nonetheless. He soon had Arthur safely, quietly gasping on his back while Merlin crouched over him to assess the damage and calm his pumping blood.  
With each breath, Arthur seemed to diminish in spirit and colour. Soon he was quiet; his heaving chest the only indication as to his survival.

Merlin now felt completely alone and helpless.

Cold droplets of dread slid down his neck and back, forever reminding him of the uncertain future; Fate taunting him by never allowing him peace of mind, not only internally, but with the exterior ominous silence of the now dark forest.

Merlin knew not what to do in his current state, so decided through fogs of anxiety it be best to find a comfortable situation and station and recalculate possibilities in the morning. While shaking and shivering from the cold water clasping his skin in light catarrh, most heavy where his skin met his clothes, Merlin pulled Arthur again by the pits of his arms, every move he made seeming to exaggerate in sound, by fear or the lack of background disturbances Merlin was unsure, to a nearby overhang of rock and carefully, cautiously laying Arthur's head down where appropriate.

It was now that he took the time to fully analyse the wound on Arthur's calf, finding the wound disconcertingly large and excreting the poison as well as thick, ripe red blood. Merlin understood that if Arthur were to continue in such a fashion then the poison would surely overpower him completely. He made no hesitation in tearing his breeches where needed and placing his lips around the wound, sucking with all his effort, gagging at the metallic combination of blood and the other sour liquid. When his mouth was full to the point of where he could no longer stand it, no longer possessing the capability to increase the volume, he squirted the mixture into the surroundings.  
This action he repeated until he was satisfied that the majority of the poison was no longer present and, hoping that minimal was circulating in Arthur's veins, he ripped the underside of his tunic to create a bandage that he fastened with increased need to enhance Arthur's health.  
All the while he tried to postpone the inevitable panic and worrying that Arthur was past his care.  
When such feelings of dread had chilled his entire body, so much so that his heart was full of pumping not blood but a cold bitterness of ice; Merlin checked Arthur's fever and understood him completely unconscious.  
With this assurance, Merlin kept his left hand upon Arthur's forehead, the right above his Prince's heart, and let the crying magic enter the other body. Merlin found his instinctive magic more reliable than any controlled, refined incantation he had learned, despite or maybe because of its raw nature.  
Merlin started to feel his chin quaking, lips quivering as salty tears started to burnish his eyes. Full despair was so gratefully not an option; Merlin was most relieved and gravitated to find Arthur's body responding to the warm tendrils of glowing magic.

Appeasing himself thus far, despite his own tiredness, and refusing to congratulate himself for his efforts, refused to also rest, he gathered dry wood to create a fire as to keep his Prince warm through the fast approaching night.  
Merlin tried his best to not be tempted to glance at the Prince's face, for to be rewarded with a blank expression as if he was eternally sleeping set his mind to a path that was grave and too dire to be allowed attention.  
Thus Merlin locked those demons away, despite their anger at their restriction.

Once the fire was ablaze, and Arthur hopefully comfortable, Merlin leant against the overhang and prayed that the morning sun would bring some answers, and that Arthur and he would be able to return within Uther's deadline.

**XxXxX**

The bright sunlight did not bring salvation, or even any pleasant salutation. Merlin's temper was still anxious as to his Prince's condition, only marginally improved.  
But before any registered emotion in Our Lady of Sorrows' book could be recorded, Merlin found himself eternally famished, consequently knowing Arthur must be too. Merlin checked upon his Prince; finding him in a stable state, he set out to scout out some rabbits, never preying more than a tens of yards away from their site.  
It brought Merlin great unease to leave Arthur so, therefore he had to be constantly reminding himself that his venture out had been in his benefit and future health. When the rabbits had been skinned, blood drained and cooked by a renewal on the fire; Merlin felt himself out of sorts due to the stains of blood on his arms, exposed to the world by his previous notion of rolling his sleeves to not get his tunic under the assault. For if Arthur was to wake (and Merlin _prayed _he would) then greeting him back with a disagreeable countenance of appearance would surely displease him.

Merlin spoke to his Prince for the first time in the several hours of twilight, realising then just how crowded his mind had become;

'Arthur,' he spoke with sweet disposition, 'Please try and eat this, you need it,' then placed the meat against his lips. At no response, Merlin found himself in the bottom of a pit, looking up and seeing a glimmer of light barely away from him, teasing him to always be out of reach. He refused to give in to despair just yet, the events past them so sudden and unexpected, leaving Merlin unprepared and stunned.

However, a thought came to Merlin when there was a ruse of being in Arthur - a groan made from an injured, sick man but a sound indicating life none the same. Merlin froze, in body and movement, but quickly decided this was the only way.

He placed a fair quantity of meat within his mouth, chewing it well, then with his mouth still full, he leaned down to hover over Arthur's feverish face; Merlin's eyes drifted to his lips which were swollen, chapped with a damp fleshy patina. With eyes caring and concerned, Merlin closed those eyes, brought his face closer, brushing his lips across Arthur's as to make them part with kind persuasion, then gently fed Arthur the meat this way, passing the food with his tongue into the mouth of his Prince, whose lips weakly took what was offered.  
Merlin then told the Prince to swallow once all was exchanged, pleased to find the command honoured. He then continued this task: of chewing and trading until he was sure Arthur had sufficient amounts. The rest he ate himself; as the sunlight touched his cheek, he found himself not understanding and yet refusing to feel a gentle beating within his breast, to feel a pleasant sensation upon his lip.

**XxXxX**

After several more attempts of trying to completely revive Arthur with his magic, Merlin was rewarded with a grace of blue eyes and a tired smile.  
Merlin could not feel any more, for his heart was full. Arthur's condition seemed to have improved significantly. Merlin was beyond any natural expression of emotion that the Prince was out of danger.

Arthur saw this arrangement of contentment on Merlin's face, his pearly teeth shone for all to view and admire - the very breath that the Prince now took was accustom to escaping him without such permission or deliverance. He spoke:

'Are you alright, Merlin? You seem somewhat happy.'

Merlin felt a gust of air escape him which formed into a laugh, slightly soaked, bearing the marks of someone who went through a great ordeal of patience of mind and effort of heart.

The Prince was able to return the pleasantry, however the intensity of light diminished in action, was made up for in character.

Merlin insisted upon Arthur's resting for the day, recuperating from his exertion and travelling back to Camelot on the morrow, when he would be able to collect all remnants of strength and resume walking normally; the wound had yet to close, however Arthur persisted that his health would be in good temperament, stating that a Prince could relax all he desired as well as better within the comforts of his own castle.  
Merlin was appeased, however, by the fact he was allowed to support Arthur by allowing the Prince to lean upon him with an arm slung around Merlin's collar. Merlin felt much gravitated by this action, and he thought himself taking all of Arthur's suffering, from the gasps and pointed silence, and dropping balm in a physical way where he otherwise couldn't.

They were able to complete the hill, a pathway being found at Arthur's knowledgeable instruction. However, once they ascended to the top, upon seeing Arthur's pants and sweat broken brow, Merlin would not relent to Arthur and made him gather himself for some time.

They found the horses where they had been left and Merlin was greatly relieved. Helping position Arthur on his horse, where he may be more comfortable and was able to place less pressure upon the wound, blood slowly permeating through Merlin's makeshift bandage, was close to ecstasy for Merlin's nerves.  
They made good time despite Arthur's injury and were in Camelot's inner wall by the twilight hours. Arthur was received with anticipation, but when his leg was seen, curiousity was conquered by concern and he was swiftly escorted to his chambers where Gaius would see to him immediately. With the King sent for, a whole account of their days apart from the city was to be articulated with no detail left unpolished.

Unfortunately for Merlin, his responsibility was to tend to the horses' needs instead of his master's and while he was away, convenience saw he fix any broken gear and muck the stables themselves. By which time these tasks were terminated, Merlin was most apprehensive to see the Prince again to be reassured of his safety by Gaius. However upon nearing the chambers, Merlin was met with his guardian to be instantly looked to himself. Gaius reported all that Merlin had meant to in a motherly way of scolding; Merlin had done well to be guardian of Arthur's injury, however was most foolish for even entertaining the thought of using magic, much more use it.  
Merlin had a moment of pure horror that Arthur had told Gaius this fact, but was quickly told that Gaius could identify the unnaturally speedy recovery of such a deep and rude intrusion of metal.

Merlin was also able to understand from Gaius' rambling that Arthur had told the King 'The Forest Spirit' was a grand telling of superstition and an exaggerated personification of many entities from vast generations.  
The knight must have been mistaken but was to be pardoned for his theory of sight. The bandit encounter however was unfortunate.

Gaius then left Merlin to tend to his master and make sure he was secure in comfort.

However Merlin did not instantly enter. He was plagued with perplexing thoughts that the Prince had softly deceived the King as to protect the magnificent spirit, also paying no verbal heed to his own desires and ambition to see it for himself.  
Merlin understood that only he and the Prince were in awareness of what had really been the outcome of their journey, and thus would have to trust Merlin did not expose one or the other or even both their falsehood.

Merlin didn't know Arthur was capable of such a feat.

When he did enter eventually, Merlin found Arthur in companionable silence with himself, injured leg raised to elevate comfort on an opulent cushion.  
Arthur seemed deep in thought, thumb, fore and middle fingers framing his face and he stared captivated into the fire. The hearth seemed to glow with the gradient of no other light sources in the room, the flames licking into the space above them, dancing merrily with only the beat of an occasional crackle as their music.  
This glow extended to Arthur; his serious look gave him a firm countenance, brow stiff, the shades expressed over his body accentuated in colour and depth.

When the door closed quietly behind Merlin, was the only time Arthur was brought back from his reverie and his features took on something of a drape falling over a window, however, upon seeing it was his manservant that accepted the space, drew back some of the curtain to show the picture.

Merlin smiled.

'You're a _prat_!' Merlin almost wanted to laugh, however took this bundle of sudden energy to move slightly forward and to recognise Arthur's eyes rolling, 'and a royal one.' For this addition Arthur's eyes were fixed on his and the proceeding remark was both natural and fond,

'Are you _ever _going to change?' Arthur seemed amused by Merlin's precise choice of words, and if one were new in acquaintance with Arthur, would most likely assume him wholly accepting Merlin as a sweetly stubborn force, however Merlin saw deeper and found Arthur thankful for them resuming, what was unique to them, normal discourse.

'No, you'd get bored,' Merlin replied ever coolly with warmth unparalleled, head shaking lightly, a hidden smile beneath his lips, as if not wanting to expose such magnitudes of feeling publicly.

Arthur's face turned gravely serious then, as if realising a truth so sudden it required all his body and mind's attention. He broke the contact of their eyes and started looking into the flames again, a ghost of his previous position. Merlin felt it maybe best he leave, Arthur had been through much, but words stopped him with as much force as a hand to his wrist.

'What you did out there Merlin-' Arthur shifted in his core, as if wanting to look at his servant again and Merlin found himself hoping for such a display; the words seemed to be taunting Arthur's lips, things that he felt right to say but due to circumstance and consequence, sense told him to hold such thoughts. He settled for something Merlin suspected a hidden underline of details, 'Not many servants would have done that.'

Merlin felt it immediately necessary that he convey to Arthur that he was worthy of whatever he thought he himself lacked.  
He composed all this weight in what only he was allowed to say, 'Of course.'

But then Arthur turned once more to fully engage Merlin in their eyes locking; Merlin felt all his limbs stop completely and utterly. Arthur seemed pained, not due to his injury, and Merlin wanted to soothe where the evil exposed itself. The Prince swallowed:  
'I wasn't talking about caring for the wound.' Merlin was choked by tension in the gaze Arthur portrayed, in his voice now low and intimate. Merlin felt as if he should nod, but felt rooted into fixture, then realised:  
'No. No, I don't think I was either.' And with the assault of what Merlin accepted as strange sensations trickling through his body, Arthur nodded his sign of Merlin's departure.

Merlin moved mechanically.

When he closed the doors, he let loose a great gust of air that rushed from his lungs, greatly concerned by the pace at which his heart knocked against his ribs, how his hair unfixed itself, and the return of the ghost on his lips.


	2. Pride

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 2**

**Pride**

'"Pride," observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, "is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us."

**Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen  
**

Several weeks had pasted since the encounter with the Forest Spirit and no change in schedule did Merlin find in his work or motions of life. Arthur was forever the river that freezes in winter: on the surface cold and unyielding and even more of a blessed chill within.

Merlin wondered if it would melt in summer.

When news emerged that King Olaf would be visiting Camelot on a tour of the country, the city was fresh with exhilaration and excitement at the idea of such a procession entering the walls of Camelot and thus to stay within such a sanctuary was a great honour on both sides.

Merlin assumed that Arthur would, too, be happy at this future happening, since a peace treaty summary and review would be the main foundation for the coming. However the news struck Arthur into a distracted man; his flowers were closed to all and his thorns protruded - to ward or warn, threaten or provoke, would be the perceivers will of vision and thinking. But Merlin liked to think he knew Arthur, or at least as well as his station allowed, and, with greater gusto and felicity then his usual nature permitted, tried to soothe the unknown wound this visit would cause Arthur.

Arthur told Merlin the meaning on the next day.

'What do you know of the Lady Vivian?' Arthur asked aloof as he gazed out of the window, lips pursed and brow shallow in thought.

Merlin looked up from the sheets of the bed, pressed and cleaned now ready for rearrangement, and thought the best he could of an appropriate reply. He knew not of her much as a person; Chance had not allowed their paths to cross, therefore time to study her Ladyship was demolished.

'I know nothing of her, sire,' Merlin put quite simply for no other view could be pretence.

Arthur took the reply with silent consideration and spoke again, a heavy pause on his body.

'The King expects me to marry her, or at least win her affection.'

Merlin knew enough about royalty now that as the Crown Prince to Camelot's throne: Arthur would need a Queen and heir by duty to help him govern the country and continue the bloodline, lest the issue of succession lead to chaos in the neighbouring, distant relations upon his death; for Arthur was the _only _male in legitimate line.

Merlin looked at Arthur and studied him with a hidden eye.

He saw guarded Sadness, Confusion between the conflict of Will and Obedience and a Spirit, full of life and light, forced to darken and subside. And yet Arthur still held his features with greater Pride than most would allow themselves to show. Merlin thought, although some may see it as arrogance and disagreeable at times, Arthur did have the right to portray himself as thus.

Upon his wondering if only he could see Arthur's inner core, and if that core were as he expected, Merlin remembered he needed to reply to the question that was not asked.

Merlin thought for a bit longer, maybe longer than was due, finishing the final creases in the sheets and turned to give the Prince his full attention, closing the feeling of warmth that Arthur would trust him to converse on such a case as this - one that could potentially change Camelot's future; and Arthur's happiness.

He had never seen such eyes.

'You must do what your heart tells you to, sire,' Merlin spoke with lack of hesitation and a flow of confidence that surprised even him.

Arthur looked close to breaking in his eye, the lid seemed heavy and the iris tortured, contracting around the pupil to give such an expression as one does when Hope is lost and Despair is gaining its favour on the falling nerves that go under.

In all his time of knowing the Prince, never had he seen him more human.

Merlin silently tried to exhale his stolen breath and treasured these moments in which he truly believed Society and Wealth did not part them.

'But what if I don't know what that is? From birth we are told what we must do, but what if our Nature finds our Nurturing disagreeable and wrong; are we to accept such fates or change our stars?'

Merlin, for a moment in its entirety, felt special and needed. The Prince was seeking _his _guidance, _his _opinion, _his _wisdom, and for Merlin to disappoint, he knew not how, but to find himself thus wanted in such intimate measures, Merlin dared not break the chain that had slowly wrapped around his heart like a snake on its prey, nor move in fear of breaking crystal. Only now did he feel Arthur's full intensity, his forehead deepening, and Merlin could not breathe.

Speechless however, he was not, because he couldn't be if it hindered Arthur's mind.

'You must do what makes you happy, sire. You are the future. The people will want to see a Prince who is independent and thoughtful, not proud yet malleable to the wills of others.'

With one final pensive pierce, Arthur retracted his knife and the air was given back.

Merlin left.

**XxXxX**

The entrance of the family was grand and opulent. They were welcomed with all the civility of hidden rivals and given affection of tired acquaintances.

Genius is said to be self-conscious; Merlin could not tell whether Lady Vivian was a genius, but she was self-conscious. She entered into a discourse with her features: she was pleasant in grace. She was tall and straight, giving her the advantage to look down on others in a double meaning her conscience seemed to find highly amusing. She conveyed this in her accent of character and the way she spoke to Camelot's family. She played; her execution was brilliant; she saw her prize and devised plans as to achieve it.

Her surface was favourable yet her substance was truly lacking. Merlin felt every sympathy for Arthur, who looked forlorn under his proud posture, that he was pre-destined to be forever attached to such a partner as this.

**XxXxX**

A private dinner was to be served in intimate celebration of the known match, followed by a banquet the next day in honour of the nobles. Merlin's presence was required to attend his master with fluency and flawlessness.

The table in the hall was long and dark, polished to demonstrate perfection. The candles were numerous and yet their shine cast a glow low and heavy. King Uther was to be seated at the head of the table, the Prince on his right. King Olaf would reside on the left hand of Uther, a privileged seat moreover, with Lady Vivian next to Arthur, the Lady Morgana with King Olaf and the rest of their court placed in order of rank down the table. Foods of luscious fruit and tender meats seemed to cascade down the table, to which even Merlin was impressed.

The Lady Morgana, a beautiful woman by no means unworthy of many admirers. She had a kind heart, however frozen at times, with a kinder look. Everything about her was by no degree half-hearted; her lips two blushing rose petals, her skin snow white, her hair raven's feathers and a sharp nose that the dagger would envy. If her beautiful overwhelmed your fear of her, then prepare for winter's lust.

With such people attending this private dinner, all Merlin desired was for Arthur to proceed with dignity of his self.

The party entered and their seats placed, food before them and the games began.

Arthur came in last. Merlin had dressed him in his finest clothes, the Prince's circlet demanding respect, his frame envy, and the folds and flows of blood red and gold oozed such importance and manner.

Merlin was to look straight ahead, seem disinterested and mechanic, yet he saw the Prince enter. Merlin persisted in vain to concentrate on his line of vision, only worry about how to present himself; to bring honour to the castle without rising above himself; whereas, he distinctly beheld Arthur's figure, and inevitably recalled the moment when he last saw it properly - just after with eyes that revealed a heart full and eager to overflow, in whose emotions Merlin believed he had a part in provoking, Arthur bore a piece of himself.

How near Merlin had approached him at that moment!

What could have occurred since, to be the master of voids and gorges? Little but as the movement of the day now placed them here, in the hours kissing goodbye to twilight. Yet now, in the presence of others and escaping such moments, how distant and estranged they were. How far apart they truly were was put into light under the candles' glow to Merlin; however he understood the placement of their fortunes, thus was not surprised when Arthur walked past him without a word, sat with Merlin's help and proceeded to converse with the ladies while Merlin had no need to fill his goblet, wine already present for his fancy.

Unlike most meals, Merlin was free to move amongst the guests to serve and attend them, however the Prince was his priority and first to be considered.

No sooner did Merlin see that his attention was riveted on them, and that Merlin might gaze without being observed, then Merlin's eyes were drawn involuntarily to the Prince's face; he could not keep their lids under control: they would rise, and the iris would fix on him. Merlin saw and looked both in the meaning, finding great pleasure in it - a precious yet poignant pleasure; pure gold, with a steely point of agony: a pleasure like what the thirsty man might feel who knows the well to which he has crept is poisoned, yet stoops and drinks divine draughts despite his death.

Most true is it that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder".

Merlin's master's full and flushed face; square, massive brow; broad and profound eyebrows, deep eyes, strong bones; firm, grim, plump, yet prim, mouth were most handsome and possibly beautiful at first glance. And yet, Arthur was without lovers.

Merlin pondered on this fact and came to the conclusion that people's perception of his master was that they might see him and believe him great, his bodily gifts brilliant, but would only see his wealth, power and what they could gain from such an advantageous connection.

But they were more than beautiful to Merlin; they were full of an interest, an influence that quite mastered him, restrained all control of Merlin's feelings in his own mind and fettered them to Arthur's heart. Merlin was able to look closer and find Will, Decision and Spirit; however trapped, Merlin found them and was awed, however dared not place the Prince the position of an idol.

Merlin had not intended to feel such sensations as these looking at the Prince, and yet here they were; strong and green and monstrously powerful.

The Prince forced such a reaction in his victims, and was able to disregard all others if his influence spread to the unworthy.

Merlin compared him with his guests.

What was the gallant grace of King Uther, the languid elegance of King Olaf, contrasted with his look of native pith and genuine presence?

And yet people could not look and find their true nature.

Merlin had no sympathy in their appearance or their expression - yet he could imagine that most observers would call them seductive, handsome, and imposing; while they would pronounce the Prince beautiful however too carved from marble to be of any true personality.

Merlin turned his eye and studied the Lady Vivian in full. Merlin wondered if her colour would fall, her cheeks become clammy and her body to tremble as was what he dreaded. Her smile and laugh were nothing to Merlin. Her smile did not lighten with the sun nor did her laugh carry any great significance compared to the bells of a Church. She started her courting of endeavours to warp the Prince – smiles and laughs and bright eyes all in one doe faced harpy.

The former actions were performed to entice Arthur into her favour, yet he burned her library of all _favourable _material. Whenever she would start a conversation and pursue an interest of his, Merlin was amazed and somewhat stunned by his brilliant ability to answer curtly, monotonously and yet with all decorum that society demanded. His air never changed from the obvious pride and disgust he felt from having to share a room with his Lady Distain.

Despite the King's many looks of ice and penetrating vehemence, a blunt command that the Prince behave himself, and chase the rewards of such a match for him and Camelot; he was ever steadfast as the stars above.

Merlin could not help to contain a ravishing smile that he tried to mask by turning inwardly.

However, he was overcome by a great sense of what was to come.

**XxXxX**

The Lady Vivian left with the King: the treaty satisfied, their goals left parched. It was evident in the ways in which the King then carried out his duties the following days: filled with a manner of hurt pride and almost loathing disappointment at the rejection from his son. Merlin was in his room, getting ready to attend the Prince and wondered what he'd find there. Many harsh and whispered words had been spoken between the King and the Prince; however the relationship that was to be forced upon them like a cloak of chains was slashed back with even greater power with a devastating effect. On the surface was there no more than the Lady subduing herself in spitefulness and animosity, the Kings stern faced; but the true destruction lay beneath the growth of new plans and unhopeful alternation.

The Prince, if one were to believe it, was the most vulnerable in this situation. He had willingly (yet cunningly) put on the guise of ignorance to strangers, defied a dynasty.

His punishment was quiet, as to avoid the people's notification to his disposition, to not leave the castle unattended; outside Camelot's walls a forbidden liberty that if he were to dare chase.

Merlin left his room for the evening and went to the chambers of said Prince.

**XxXxX**

Once the hostility and pain of Lady Vivian's refusal had been left to die - like a fire suddenly fed so high on expectation, it screams to an ember that, abandoned to time, finds itself wanting silently, then is heard no more - another event was soon to replace even this one.

Merlin was standing in the throne room, the magnificent hall both daunting in its beauty as well as bewitching; the great space gave the impression of a holy purpose and the decoration something that promised everything as long as one kept desire to one's self.

He was quietly remarking on Arthur's character, being placed at his side gave great opportunity for such a pass time, when a woman in rags of the greyish kind started to desperately hobble toward them.

Today was the day in which the people were able to voice what they wanted to the family. If their cause was truly believable, their character truly hopeless and their prospects truly helpless; a hand of salvation could be offered.

This woman, old in complexion and withered in spirit, such the kind that inspired pity and sympathy in all your human heart, stood before the judgement of the raised King and his disciples; short and thin, the contrast was extreme to the healthy build of the statures just beyond reach.

Merlin, being a kind and gentle soul, liked to believe he'd try to help all others even if this meant to sacrifice one's own happiness; he immediately felt this woman worthy of at least a few silver pieces, no questions asked.

However it was not his place to give such judgement much less speak of it and confess his thoughts.

The King's vote would be paramount amongst the others.

Arthur gazed on her with a firm feature, but his eyes broke mercy.

'Please,' already, the woman was straining from lack of water and nutrition. Merlin thought her most ill and in need of medicine.

'Our village has been attacked,' she broke, but the way she descended to the ground resembled that of bones being distorted so much that the structure could no longer support itself.

Merlin called out to this woman in his thoughts, prayed she'd be shown some kindness; her scars were obvious from travel that her age could not permit and took revenge from the work in scratching her in grazes and blot in fine boils.

However, the King was unmoved and unmoving.

'Where is your village?' He showed obvious distaste at her lack of control and her uncouth forgetfulness at _who _she was addressing; however this was soothed by the pleasure of being in such a high position. Merlin thought however insufferable the King was, he might aid her to establish his authority.

His pride was loud and unbearable.

Now, the woman looked shaken and her entire being was twisted in misery.

'It is in Cenred's kingdom, sire,' she looked as if she would continue, but whatever "kindness" was bestowed on the King's face was now washed away irrevocably.

Merlin burned in anger and sighed in quiet obedience.

'Then I cannot help you, I am sorry.'

The King did not show any emotions of distress at this woman's misfortune or compassion for her. With a flash of his hand, she was escorted out, however her wet cries and tortured yells for mercy echoed about the room to create a most unearthly orchestra.

Merlin looked to his master.

All he was allowed to see was a pensive man with silent words.

**XxXxX**

'You _must _help her!'

Merlin erupted with such vigour in voice and pluck of presentation. He knew it wrong to speak out but speak up he must.

They were in Arthur's chambers, Arthur having just viciously crossed the room, his back now a faceless pillar in front of Merlin.

'And what would you have me do, Merlin?' It was said with the volume of a caress but the address was aggrieved and dangerous as he turned.

'_Help _her. In whatever way you can. You're the Prince, Arthur,' Merlin felt his emotions cascade, maybe from the fact he sympathised with the woman on a level in which that their station was moderately similar.

'You cannot let anyone take that away from you. _You _have influence where the King does not.' Merlin feared the Prince viewing him as impertinent and ill-mannered, not only for addressing the Prince so informally but expressing such potency of emotion and so very bluntly showing his loyalty and pride in one man outweighed the fear of the other.

However he was lost when the former spoke as thus:

'He is the King, Merlin.' As if that was the doomed Fate of them all. Merlin's anger was racing; he saw in the sternness of the Prince's muscles that he was close to breaking, close to the edge of something in his character, the spirit in his eyes unyielding and untamed but the fleshy cage obeying its creator.

Merlin tried to break the chains.

'Was his temperament so very "Kingly"? He is a man who should show kindness and be humble to all subjects that come to him and yet be able to still hold that authority in power, wisdom and courage, but in such a way that it is becoming and welcoming to his title, his country, his spirit.'

'He has turned a poor woman out of doors because she lives beyond his touch. I say that is _blasphemy_ against all human morality! If only _I _were a King, or even had such instruments in which I could spread joy and prosperity so very easily and without opposition. I would not stand to watch a soul pass out of my hall so tortured, and so miserable, but see if she would let me take her in my house. If only _I _were a King then-'

And on this note, in which Merlin had been so thoroughly derailed and blind in his passion and suffering of another, did Arthur approach him with such a wild eye, such a feral nature, that he was stunned into silence immediately when the Prince then grabbed him by the forearm in one giant hand, circling and trapping his waist in another in a steel vice grip, so the proximity of their faces was barely a magnitude and the air thick with words, bodies heated with the tumbling of towers between the classes.

'I _will _save her, Merlin. _I will_!_' _The Prince swallowed and looked deeply into the frightened lamb he had captured.

'Meet me in the lower town this evening with a temper for discretion and the most healing herbs Gaius has, but ones he will not miss.'

With that trembling statement and unleashed fire, the Prince exited his rooms.

Merlin was so overcome in such a way, that all he could hear was his heart knocking at his ribs, the pulse vivid and sharp in his ear. His eyes saw, but they could not focus on any object.

**XxXxX**

Merlin had done all that was asked of him. The herbs that Gaius always mentioned to be the most efficient in general cure but perhaps one's that he wouldn't need, Merlin collected in moderation. At a reasonable hour that hopefully wouldn't wake Gaius, but was into the night so that the Prince would be there, Merlin left his chambers with the herbs in his pocket.

Merlin, by now, could navigate through the Castle with ease and knew all that came with the art of stealth.

When he got to the lower town, he realised just how rushed and incoherent his thoughts were; he had no inclination as to where Arthur was and how to find him, besides the fact he didn't fully understand the purpose of this midnight quest. However, his thoughts were not led to panic, for with a rough hand around his mouth, guiding him to a nearby alleyway as to be unseen, was he in the presence of his Prince. His master looked shaken but firm all the same, his forehead concentrated and yet concerned with his actions – due to care or deliberation Merlin was unsure. However he was able to answer Arthur's questions in short, concise punctuation as not to portray his backwashed perplexity.

Upon giving the herbs to the Prince, he asked Merlin to look for any sign of life, and if anything rippled among the calm of the night, he was to inform his master immediately and without hesitation.

Merlin, still in his daze of thought, kept only half an eye on the surroundings, hearing for disturbances in the night across the otherwise still motions. He looked at the Prince, his pace and posture as high as ever, then he knocked on a door in the dusty alleyway.

Merlin felt his own eyes open wide and the mists of his mind were cleared instantly as he saw the old woman, presumably staying at the local inn for a night before she went forth back to her distorted life.

Merlin held himself perfectly, now focusing almost completely on the discourse between the two and hoped to capture some of the verse. All he was able to accomplish was that the Prince wished her well and upon his exchange of the herbs; and a generously modest bag of coins, did they part with much gratitude and affection from the woman. She cried and wept for his kindness, yet knew not to draw attention to them.

The door was closed and the Prince returned.

His master looked content within himself, relaxed features portraying his inner core, and, wrapping himself in his cloak, did he curtly inform Merlin to return with him to the Castle.

Merlin was in a pleasant manner. For all the Prince's possible flaws, he was just, and now in Merlin's eyes, magnificent. Merlin was overwhelmed with a sensation that maybe the man in front of him would be the Destined Once and Future King; and the servant realised that he never had doubted Arthur, and never had not believed in him.

Nor ever would stop.

The longer Merlin paid attention to what was happening within, the more he came to understand the gravity of the Prince's choices. The Prince had deliberately done the exact opposite to what the King had previously done. Such actions of disobedience were impossible! If this knowledge was known publicly or even by an inner circle, combined with the Prince's resent rejection of the Lady Vivian's hand -

Merlin couldn't imagine the disgrace or punishment Arthur might receive. For a while, the Prince would be in a very vulnerable position, in his title's future and name.

'Do you think I did the right thing?' the Prince pronounced somewhat quietly, and yet his husky wooden voice carried tomes of understanding of one's circumstances and consequences.

Merlin looked upon his master and saw a worthy man, whose opinion was becoming more agreeable by the day.

'Of course, Sire,' Merlin paid no attention to the intimate nature of his own tone.

'You have put much at stake for what others would see as so little. You are a just _man, _Sire, and one that will be a _great_ King. You always strive for justice, and I'll always follow you,'

Merlin was consumed by the silence and his pride of the Prince; save for the gentle steps of their feet.

Merlin was prepared to continue in this comfortable calm however the Prince spoke again, as if whispering to himself.

'That's good to know-' and Merlin, for what it was worth, could not contain a gentle smile of peace.

This would be disrupted almost viciously by the Prince's next and final words for the evening.

'- that no matter what happens, I'll always have you by my side'

Merlin was anew to the strange raptures he felt touching his heart. He looked to his master as to gauge his face, however Arthur, unknowingly or proudly, was not meeting his eye.

For some stranger reason, this made Merlin smile all the more.

'Of course, Sire,'


	3. Missing

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 3**

**Missing**

"I wonder how much of the day I spend just calling after you._" _

**To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee  
**

Merlin lived in anxiety of that the Prince's endeavour would be discovered, and the imprudence of his actions combined with the disapprobation of just _who _he had helped would be fully felt by the King, unleashing all manners of prejudice remarks and devastating exploits towards the Prince.

Merlin thought that injustice towards a man who had acted so courageously. However much of an arrogant, withdrawn man he could be.

However, Merlin's worrying for his master's wellbeing was disrupted by the most ill-humour of all rumours. By means of communication, Merlin had heard that his mother was caught sick of a feverish plague, an ailment that made her weak in mind and slow in physicality. This report was the last sighting of her a fortnight ago and new panics dislocated Merlin's peace and his actions.

He very much wished to say in Camelot, for he had found a purpose there that he did not believe would ever reside in Ealdor, he was comfortable in his station and his life had light and spirit frequently visiting in all their shine and pleasant appearance. He knew now the meaning of security and felt all the luxuries that came with such an almost rare liberty. No hunger did he need pay heed to, nor ever one of loneliness. But, despite his best efforts to be content with the knowledge his mother was of a strong, unyielding disposition when nature was considered, feelings of unease pecked at his inner ear until the flesh was sore with fret.

Merlin conversed unto Gaius his woes and the old man gave him leave for however long he believed necessary, trusting Merlin's sense of duty and talents as a healer that the visit could possibly be one of pleasure also, the last time he saw his mother a distant echo in the corridors.

But upon this Merlin felt great and surprising agitation.

He did not wish to leave for a great while.

Truth be told and always bright, he couldn't ignore the need to see his mother in good health and good spirits; however a crushing sense of guilt and sadness came with the inclination of his leaving. He prayed the Prince would understand and that maybe these thoughts of the parting being a mutual displeasure due to his imagination and a result of his wish wanting to be with his mother.

Merlin made the ways of preparing for such a journey within less than the few hours given to him by his schedule, then took the Prince's dinner to his room and swallowed the lightness of his stomach, another ailment of his lamenting for his mother's sake.

Merlin knocked on the door once, a rare task for him he was aware, but to gain the Prince's favour he needed to be courtly, he supposed.

Upon the amused but indifferent _'Enter'_ Merlin didn't know if the Prince was laughing at _him_ or his actions. Still, he placed the food upon the table, where the Prince sat in wait. Merlin then went to clean the room, a few dustings here and there, while the Prince conversed with his father's ward: the Lady Morgana.

She had a sharp eye about her and upon giving several glances to the boy motioned in persuasion for Arthur to direct his eye at an appearance where his attention was desired.

'Does he want to talk to you?' She smiled knowingly. Merlin looked up, noticing their gaze and blushed at the intensity of one and the importance of the other. The Prince threw him something curious and after whispering something to the Lady Morgana, left the room, holding the door open; a strong inclination that his servant would follow.

He did, and prepared his speech.

'Well, Merlin?' he said, leaning against the door he had just shut, 'Don't keep me waiting. Out with it.'

'If you please, sire, I would like to request a leave of absence from your services.'

Arthur looked momentarily shocked and wounded, but repaired his features for his next statement.

'What to do? Where to go? Are you quitting me, Merlin?' There was a sub-textual threat within his maze of eyes, but Merlin smiled at his annoyance, for he found it endearing.

'No sire; to see my mother who has become very ill.'

The Prince's face softened altogether at those words and Merlin wondered why specifically the change of countenance and was it what he thought for the time he was given, before the Prince caught his attention again.

'Your mother? But she lives almost four days travel from Camelot. How ill is she?'

'Her name is Hunith and I hope she isn't in danger. I wish to reassure myself and cure her with all I can.'

The Prince looked incredulously at his servant for a few moments, 'You do not have any pretext for wanting to stay with her?'

'No, sire! If there are no signs of danger, I will return as soon as possible,'

The look didn't fault, however his face did again soften.

'How long do you think you'll need?'

'As short a time as possible, sire.'

'Promise me no longer than ten days-'

'I cannot hold a time sire, for I may be inclined to break its promise,'

'At all accounts, you will _not _staylonger than a fortnight.'

'I will try my best,' Merlin said smiling.

The Prince's stance was still that of a bear's on its hind legs; however his eyes how let seep a sense of concern.

'Do you intend to travel alone?' And his volume was quieter.

'I have not a soul to accompany me.'

Arthur now raised his voice, for what emotion Merlin could not tell, or would place, 'You cannot protect yourself Merlin!' and upon this he thought, 'A Knight will escort you. I'll have no objections.'

'Thank you sire, however do not waste valuable men on my account, I am more than I appear to be,'

The Prince meditated Merlin's eye.

'When do you wish to go?'

'Early tomorrow morning, sire,'

'Well, you must have some money; you can't travel without money, and I daresay you have none: I have given you no salary yet. How much do you have Merlin?' the Prince asked, smiling.

'Ten copper pieces sire,' He took Merlin's statement, and chuckled over it as if its scantiness amused him. He then reached beside him and looked into his pouch, a display of wealth as well as a good means to buy his wants easily in the city.

'Here,' he said, signally for Merlin to produce his hand and upon this palm, the servant found thirty gold coins.

The Prince owned him but five silver ones.

Merlin said he had no change and Arthur took great pleasure in the teasing of his little servant,

'I don't want change, you know that. Take your wages.'

Merlin protested politely and genuinely that he could not accept more than was his due; the Prince scolded him at first, but then thinking again, said quickly and mockingly,

'Of course, of course. With thirty gold coins, you'd stay three months and torment me with the foolishness of such a gallantry. Here,' he relinquished many, 'take five.'

He refused further objections from Merlin that even five was too much, but Arthur took some sort of morbid pleasure in making the boy uncomfortable, and with his eye made this known.

Merlin had to relent.

'Thank you, Ar- sire' Merlin blinked hardly as to encompass his fault at the Prince's address. His master hadn't minded recently that he addressed him informally, and now that Merlin had time to think upon such a case, Arthur _never_ really seemed to mind.

Merlin wondered why.

The Prince, however, took advantage of Merlin's state.

'How dare you,' he spoke proudly, 'Give me back four pieces Merlin, I've a use for them, such imprudent behaviour can't go unnoticed!'

'No, sire.' And Merlin stepped back smiling with a glee that attacked him by ambush, hiding the pieces behind his back: out of reach and out of sight.

'_Merlin,' _His master spoke sternly with a mocking threat.

Merlin continued to smile, 'You are not to be trusted.'

But unfortunately, this brought the conversation to a natural end, and all that was left were the formalities that come with such a parting: for one side to say goodbye, the other to wish good health and a pleasant journey.

Arthur smiled, and re-entered his chambers.

Merlin's smile faded - and he walked away.

**XxXxX**

The sun was bright and unforgiving in its happiness and forced the traveller to rejoice in such a day, to sing gaily at the beauties of nature that entrap the Earth and hum around it.

Merlin thought it strange the sun should shine so splendidly.

Already, an agreeable quantity of his journey was trodden behind him, the undergrowth of the forest easy on his shoed feet.

Within three days, Merlin was within Ealdor's fence and smiled on such a happy occasion.

When he reached the village, the people were carrying out their everyday needs and wants, labours, trials and tribulations that come swiftly with poverty and the lower class. Merlin had many a bad memory, but cast them from his mind and focused on his mother, a woman who needed him.

After civility had been exchanged with the villagers he knew, which, from growing up with no more than sixty say people around him, he knew everyone, did he get the chance to check up upon his mother without appearing rude or impertinent to the others.

She greeted him with all the love and affection that naturally grows from one's own flesh, smiled with him in joy and ecstasy at finally being reunited with her son; the webs of loneliness around her melted with his presence, and she felt content to have him here once more.

Merlin, although smiling and in raptures to see his mother again, was gravitated by the boils and bruises of sickliness that chained his mother's skin like a leather sheen of rotten flesh on fruit. She coughed, and this comforted Merlin to some degree.

It proved she was still living.

Upon her weak conduct, she fell asleep.

Merlin soothed her boils with heated butters, a mixture of henbane and hemlock were applied to her aching joints and Coriander was used to reduce the fever.

**XxXxX**

These practises were used at least twice a day until improvement shone on the fifth.

While she slept to conserve her energy, Merlin cleaned the house.

He dusted the surfaces of her hut, swept the floor and destroyed all the cobwebs. Unwanted and unnecessary items were sold as to gain her some income and Merlin placed the five gold pieces the Prince had bestowed on him along with the other earned copper ones, into his mother's purse. The weight satisfied Merlin that she may be comfortable for at least another month.

Merlin reacquainted himself with the village, remembering the last time he was here, and took it upon himself to pay his friend a visit.

Will's site seemed clean, thus Merlin did not feel inclined to tidy it. Merlin smiled, despite the low feelings of sadness, he did not miss his friend. Will had been good to him, looked out for him as if they were brothers; but he was prejudice and arrogant for his station: faults he could not cleanse, but one's that lost his potential in seeing the beauty the world had to offer.

Merlin thought of the Prince and how gracious a gesture he had used to honour his friend and Merlin was thus assaulted by the need to lay down.

The trees were green, however not shining. The sun was bright but not warm. The air was clean but tasteless and suddenly the world was cold.

Upon thinking of a memory, or maybe a remark the Prince would have said to his blank expression, Merlin smiled and looked to his side, but it faded as fast as it had become visible-

-no presence did he see.

**XxXxX**

On the completion of a week did Merlin's mother gain the ability to speak with spirit and vehemence, no longer needing to cough to punctuate her sentences.

Hunith could now properly enquiry after her son and if he was happy.

'How is the Prince treating you, Merlin? He sends me a letter, wishing my good health,'

Merlin heard her produce a parchment which he assumed had the communication she stated and was surprised she could read it. She read little. Maybe his Father taught her.

'He is such a handsome young man: in character and appearance. I should hope he is very amiable to you?'

Merlin stopped his current task of sweeping and paused in his deep thoughts.

His mother's words were of no consequence, some simple questions to reassure herself of her son's happiness, but there was a manner of their delivery and a sense of dimension which gave them meaning.

'Merlin, come here.' He turned in time to see her gesture for his sitting beside her so they may talk intimately.

He relinquished his hold of the broom and hoped that his perturbation was not so strong as to be visible.

She gazed on him and repeated her enquiry.

'How is he with you?'

Merlin breathed slowly and spoke without a blush, he prayed. He remembered his words: foretelling his insignificance to the Prince and how he related similar sentiments to her.

He thought.

'I-I highly esteem him... I like him,'

She smiled, 'You gave an air that he was insufferable,'

Merlin's face fell and he spoke with haste,

'I did not mean that his attributes have improved; I meant that upon knowing him longer, his disposition has become more understood. And in this understanding their true sentiments realised and... cherished.' Merlin's eye could not concentrate on his mother's; the iris slid to the side in a way of remembering, a glaze appearing that comes with one's transportation.

'Do you miss him?' she spoke while reaching for his hand.

Merlin stood and avoided further trespassing.

Hunith continued to smile - her son need not worry himself with her curiousity; she did not desire to force his communication. She had proof enough. There was sufficient evidence to indicate that her son and the Prince were more engaged than they had last been during their stay, that they had a bond that now lacked sustenance: the mark was on Merlin's brow, the way he kept himself, the distraction in his eye that she caught. She was glad that Merlin had found something in the Prince, and knew that she never worry for _him. _The Prince would keep him safe; of this she was sure and relieved this anxiety would know her no more, thus was satisfied.

However Merlin lamented.

It was true in what he said - the Prince was what he had been, and would never change. But there was such a new angle of character that Merlin had not first seen. At times he felt ashamed for his prejudice, but realised that he never truly thought ill of the Prince, even from their first encounter, as his head had left him to believe.

No, it had been but a dormant feeling, now with summer's rays could sprout its leaves and extend the roots. What pleasant civility the Prince could communicate with him! What concern he could show! Merlin knew that his station subtly forbid any warmth from his master and yet the man portrayed moments of - discomposure for his wellbeing. The moments were fast and fleeting but existed in time's compass nonetheless, despite time's smallest measurement. Merlin looked within himself and tried to find an explanation for such starts in his chest, but found no reply.

Merlin could not be untouched by his master's politeness nor ignore the respect and gratitude he felt for his more valuable qualities. Despite the moments his master expressed intensity in his temper, they were balanced by his unspoken acknowledgment of his faults later. The gratitude resided with a humble fact; Merlin's security and happiness depended upon the Prince, he was in his employment and could be discarded so very easily for his behaviour: yet the Prince kept him, and Merlin smiled, for a moment allowing himself the perception that they might be-

-_friends._

Now Merlin, however knowing that he would return, couldn't help but feel that he had abandoned the Prince to a life without humour and good spirits, a life wherein nobody understood him.

Arthur was a good master, and Merlin believed that he couldn't find a more faithful guardian.

'Merlin? Why do you smile so?' his mother asked tiredly from the bed, drifting to sleep.

'I remembered something.'

**XxXxX**

The Prince had given Merlin a fortnight in which to visit his mother and return, however Merlin did not enter the road in which was bound for Camelot until a month had passed.

The extension of time was due to his worry for his mother's condition, now completely perished out of her body, alongside the idea that his mother was lonely without his company.

She gave leave of him at his conversing of the Prince's wishes as she spoke of him again, and hasten that he depart, and depart immediately - although frail, she was a grown woman with enough memories to satisfy her need for intimate company, he need not spare her a thought.

Now, Merlin was walking over a meadow in which the castle was visible in the twilight.

It was not an extraordinary scene, but was tranquil and beautiful.

The grass was lush and a tinted red-green, soft to touch Merlin thought, with the irregular pattern of daisies and dandelions. The sky was an opulent mirage of blues and pinks, hazing at the points where the clouds were present. The sun, now a sleepy orb of topaz, was sinking in the liquids above.

Merlin felt absolutely at peace with nature, found exquisite delight in them.

However, what _was_ extraordinary about the scene was the Prince sitting beneath a tree, back comfortably positioned and legs spread for leisure, pencil and paper in his hand: he was writing.

Merlin guessed the Prince had not seen him yet and wondered at his being out at such an hour, and for what.

Against the sunshine between the trees, did the Prince acquire an attire of manner that placed him as naturally in the scene as the earth itself.

Merlin was happy to be in Camelot again, in his master's presence.

Merlin was not conscience of his body's movement, only solely concentrating on his facial workings and the need to appear calm, but above all, to suppress the raising glow within his breast and the smile that dared to accompany this feeling. He felt his muscles rebel against his will, and once struggled, had been able to break through their cage, now adorning on his face the exact expression he had wished to conceal.

His master must have heard his approaching, for his step had quicken quite significantly, only with the Prince's raising his head and seeing his face, with a glaze within his iris, did he realise that he must have ran.

However, the look of shock, surprise and discompose of astonishment was overtaken by anger, and the Prince's eyes were locked to him with bars of irritation.

'Where have _you _been?' The Prince forsook what he had been previously engaged with and stood to his full height, broad shoulders imposing. 'And you can wipe that _smirk_ off your face!' His brow had become harsh and narrow in his expression of anger, lips pointed.

Merlin could _not _exchange his smile for another emotion if he were being whipped. He had gone many days without seeing the man who had become such a fixed idol within his everyday life, that now to be reunited with this missing piece was to be a perpetual happiness. Merlin was overcome with such raptures; a feeling so pure in its fulfilment in his body as well as the conquering of his mind.

So much had this sensation overtook his beating of simple existence that to be reprimanded by his master was for him to take Merlin in his arms and embrace him; his master's voice was something that he had been acquainted with for many months, and to be given such a noise again was a sweet elixir and birdsong to Merlin's ear; the gravelled smoothness of it, the perfect diction, all complimenting and fitting against Merlin's senses perfectly.

'_Merlin,'_ The sharp, fine eyes still vehement and the forehead still tense. 'I gave you a _fortnight_. You do realise that you have almost _doubled_ that time!'

'Yes.' Merlin spoke, as if in a trance, still smiling.

The Prince now stopped and halted all emotions that would inspire fear; all anger seemed to be washed away from his brow. What was left was an incredulous manner in which Merlin supposed he was studying him. What Merlin supposed must have been right, for his master's eyes seemed to excite a ghost within him, noting the timing and strength of each heartbeat.

Upon finding something he favoured, Arthur smiled. It was a smile that was entirely of his own element and one that he saved for only occasions Merlin thought, contained him. It was complete sunshine, purging all shadows: Arthur shone this light on Merlin now.

'How have you been Merlin?'

'In good health thank you, sire.'

'How is your mother?'

'Very much recovered and mending well. I left her healed.'

The Prince took on a more serious demeanour now however, 'You are not to leave me again for so long Merlin. Your conduct was not becoming in the slightest of measurements. I've been without a component manservant for a month now.'

'Surely you have one in my stead!'

'I did - but he wasn't to my liking. Better than you of course in the art of _cleaning, _however he was extremely dull.'

'Is that so, sire?' Merlin's smile did not remain from a continuation of the reunion, but from the aspect that his master felt some sort of partiality to him.

Arthur scoffed, but smiled through it, and paused, no doubt to communicate something of heavy weight. His features softened, but remained firm, his eyes were vulnerable, yet still guarded.

'Don't do that again, Merlin.'

With this, Merlin walked past him, as to accompany the Prince back to the castle, but while his master collected his forgotten things, mumbling something about idle men, Merlin turned and spoke freely, wishing the Prince to understand at least this much, hoping it would comfort him, but if not, would at least help him understand his servant more,

'My home is with you, sire. Whatever amount of time keeps us apart, I will always return, always willing to serve you. Wherever you are, is where I belong.'

Arthur looked like something akin to wounded, his lips pouting; however Merlin did not wait to study the expression, leaving Time to realise the meaning of his master's nature.


	4. Freedom

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 4**

**Freedom**

'Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.  
"Yes, Piglet?"  
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you."_'  
_

**Winnie The Pooh, A.A. Milne  
**

The day King Uther died was a sad and wicked one for almost all involved.

It seemed an eternal gloom had been veiled over the castle, the city, towns, even some of the villages on the outskirts of the kingdom, once the knowledge was attainable to them; for although the King had been a tyrant to some, he had tried for others.

Now, grey, dull clouds covered the sky; no blue sky was there to see, no _vivid _sunlight, no _bright _colours. Not anymore.

The events which led to such an advent of days were so rushed, so unexpected in their cruelty, that even now, Merlin cannot think back on them with the bittersweet joy he might have for the day the Prince would ascend the throne, however the pain they caused to the latter affected the former.

It was the Prince's birthday, an appropriate age you can decide, dear reader. The merriment of the occasion would see brilliant smiles on the courts faces; the women in vibrant, rich colours of crimsons and blues and golds; the men in their most refined attire, strong builds accentuated and postures relaxed under the intimate pink light that comes with dim candles and food. The feast was indeed sumptuous in the choices of courses - the entertainment expensive in the most fashionable way; the noises of a pitch pleasing to the ear however not stern to the brain, some of lutes, others of laughter, and Merlin believed his Prince may be able to relax, even for an evening.

However, it was once the festivities were at an end, and the castle was to retire, and upon the Prince to visit the King in gratitude for such grand celebrations; did one of the jesters reveal themselves to be that of a lurking assassin.  
The guise of friendship was broken when a chance to take advantage of intoxicated and merry men was available, and in defence of his son, through the confusion and panic of such sudden moments was the Prince found with a foreign body discarded to the side, and the King's in his arms: bloody and pale.

Merlin had never seen the Prince cry before; and in one look, he was able to silently and possibly unknowingly communicate his fear of being unprepared.

Merlin heard of the news of the King's fate during the night: guards came in to awaken Gaius and he was consequently roused in the commotion. In those short moments, Merlin did feel a most strange feeling. He did not go with Gaius to examine the body; they knew the eyes did not see them, however he stayed for a while in the study, his knees suddenly weak and cold; his heart did race and a nearby chair was his only sedation.

Merlin did not cry for the King, he cried for his son.

Merlin knew the pressures the Prince would now be under, he had been in the court long enough to identify that not only were the expectations great, but also unreachable to mortal men. Merlin thought of the Prince's blaming himself (he was noble like that): the Prince would most likely believe the death of his Father not an unfortunate event, but a result for his lack of conviction in power and strength of protection.  
No doubt his mind would be destructing itself; an inner war of guilt and regret gnawing his honour. Merlin thought of how the Prince would, with his emotions of wanting to turn time's compass, compose himself, definitely, and rise to be a man that would please everyone - welcome everything that was right and forbid all that was evil.  
Merlin, for a time, thought of how his Prince would rot away within himself trying to become something so great, so utterly untouchable and holy in judgement, it would physically erode his heart. It was not that Merlin had any lack of faith in his Prince; it was because he cared too much. Merlin knew the Prince's good heart; it was pure and Merlin was ever so grateful that the Prince's disposition prohibited any feelings that would tempt or feed his vexations, instead fuelling a fire that was never brighter than the stars in its creator's eyes.

Merlin, for a time, thought of how the world was but a stage, the men and women merely players. However the Prince was an exception, for not only was he greater than any man Merlin had ever met, he had a destiny attached to his heart that Merlin believed would be realised in full force.

Merlin went to the Prince, once he dried his face, and being his manservant this task was delivered with great ease. However he was not to be admitted audience to the distraught man yet.

The King would be burnt on a pyre after being washed and prepared by the 'pure' women then wrapped in Camelot's cloak. The whole court, and probably any subjects that could get there in time, then would be there and Arthur would say kind words about him, saying his goodbyes. The women, if you imagine any attending, would not be permitted to speak at all. The pyre would be lit by Arthur himself and then the remains: Merlin knew not what would happen, and nobody told him.

All these tasks were carried out with speed appropriate and respectful.

The new King did not speak.

Merlin had been able to study his friend's character, and for once was struck speechless upon his firmness of cheek and sternness in his words when his lips unfroze.

Merlin had taken great pains, with the little power he possessed in the court, to give the late King a service that the Prince would appreciate and hopefully even like. Merlin did not want his friend to lament on past days with sadness, but look at them with fondness. However no happiness of past days did Merlin see in the new King's face, no brightness in his brow, nor any vivid colour in his eye. Merlin felt a pang of heart when Arthur spoke to him unfeelingly, distantly; instructions to be carried out concisely and precisely; no spirit was released.  
Out of all his predictions of the future, he did not expect Arthur to treat him with coldness.

But Merlin did not blame him, as Gaius almost did, for Merlin understood. Merlin bore Arthur's pains as if they were his own, for not only had he also lost a father, but the responsibility that now hanged around Arthur's neck like a noose, every moment it looked more disgusting and contracting round his veins, that Merlin sometimes thought he was choking.

Merlin bore this alone.

He let Arthur shout at him when things did not go according to plan, and he let him rebuke him for faults unrelated to him. The King, in the peace of his chambers, either hurt Merlin with his icy looks and distant eyes, or threw fire at him in the form of heated words.

Merlin understood.

And once the true nature of the assassin was realised - that he was a sorcerer - did Merlin feel breathless for Arthur's void-like emotion towards magic.

And it was now, when Arthur didn't refuse, but didn't relinquish the ban on magic; did Morgana reveal herself in all her bitterness and darkness.  
The recent years of Uther's reign had made her feel more alone, thus leading to a spiteful temper, and upon Arthur's doing nothing for now, this didn't satisfy Morgana; in her fury, she categorised the King to be a deceiving monster like his Father -she did not wait and pray, convince him otherwise; she plotted against him and swore curses and blood on his Kingdom before almost tearing the land apart in her distraught state of emotions.

She left.

She took advantage of Arthur, almost had him killed, and she injured him deeply. He lost someone he thought a friend, and later knowledge revealed the last family he even had: a sister, however halved, but this didn't matter to him, she was part of his blood, and that was enough.

Arthur concealed himself for days, not in his chambers, but in his nature.

Merlin understood the King's position, understood that all his experience of magic was only tainted, corruption and evil, but still he hoped; hoped that he may be able to break the clouds with sunlight.

Merlin, alone in the early days, did pine in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy, did he sit like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. He did not care for his own misfortunate and possibility for Arthur's emotions to be permanently locked within the ice, forever believing magic a sin, and therefore would never be free; of course it stung, but his main concern was that of Arthur.

Merlin did not dare address him informally, however, he did smile often as he did, and did not treat the King any differently than he had as Prince. Merlin was kind and warm to his master; nostalgic of the old days and looking with hope to the new. No matter how many times Merlin was met with chills from his master, or a remark biting, he did prevail to melt the snow.

Within a four months however, of Arthur's reign, Merlin looked to himself and found he had adorned a collection of scars. With Arthur becoming something almost god-like in his attempts to please the court, did Merlin feel as if he was fading.

The King no longer spoke in banter, or in jest, but with terse and fixed words: clipped and primed for such exchanges with a personal servant. Merlin felt at times he saw a smile, a loose one now and then, and that he lived upon. The King was not cruel in the ways of violence, but in a freezing temperament that made Merlin feel as if he was drifting from his master. Merlin tried, however all he could feel was a wedge being stuck between himself and his master; a great divide like a canyon in the Earth, or a ship upon the mirage-like horizon - and every day the views were more unclear, and Merlin almost at times thought he could no longer see his friend.

It vexed Merlin with heat and passion that his master felt the necessity to create such a demeanour. Merlin did not feel so intensely as a direct anger at his King, but a disappointment in other external forces weighing down on his master so much, that he was forced to become such a shape. Merlin admired the King for his lack of brittle conduct, however was saddened by the consequence. He had imagined that; upon Arthur's coronation, the world would seem brilliant: the image was still there, have no doubt, however the time were it to become realised was longer than he had anticipated.

Merlin did not feel these vexations _at_ his King, but that he had become maybe too malleable. Merlin liked to believe that he knew his King, Merlin knew him to be a humble, honourable man; with a sweet and warm disposition with a spirit so intense and radiant in its need for justice and happiness that Merlin had become overwhelmed in moments he saw a future so spectacular and magnificent, he felt the need to lie down; the King would never stop fighting for goodness, and Merlin knew him to be so courageous in its true definition - the King would continue to fight even if he knew he was losing, he would always keep _giving_, until the world gave in. He'd only stop if he died trying.

However, the King was still a man, and Merlin felt great pride and happiness in the knowledge that some days, when the King became too bewildered at times, maybe to make a poor decision; Merlin would be there, always to support him in his views when he needed it and to guide him when he was asked.

These duties Merlin carried out, and _those _he lived upon.

Merlin knew his King to be a great man, no one would ever be like him; he only wished Arthur could see that too.

**XxXxX**

It was a sunny day, however not hot in the degree to burn one's skin, not even feel anything. However the Knights were eager to go on a hunting trip, so long had they been cooped up in the castle and its grounds, only venturing as far as a nearby town when instructed on patrol. They gave this argument to the King, persuading him to take some pains to con a great expedition: one to be filled with great sport and greater victory. Merlin was where he was most comfortable, on the King's right-hand side, always listening.

He looked to the King's face, not too indiscreetly to be offensive, but enough to gain a proper gauge of thoughts. The King looked troubled, as if not even wanting to go, however this broke to a more relaxed set of features when one of the younger knights told him that he hadn't been to the forest since he was a boy. The King felt sympathy, it seemed, and was amused by the ways in which the more experienced of swordsmen nudged him backwards for his lack of respect. Merlin hadn't seen the King smile since his title was given to him, along with dusty clothes and a battered robe. Even this comical scene did not spurge such soft looks, but a glint of his eyes portrayed an inner acceptance.

**XxXxX**

When they were in the King's chambers, newly cleaned and sharp in their polished state, Merlin packed essential equipment while the King finished some stately business by his desk.

Merlin turned to him.

He blushed for his thoughts, resumed his packing.

He turned again, a new resolve important, however fragile.

'Sire,' he spoke with surprising frailty, and only then, under the King's waiting gaze, did he realise the silence and its loudness.

The King had a firm countenance upon his grace, his strong nose inflexible and brow stretched in expectation of a continuation, eyebrows high and coolly curious.

Merlin broke and retreated back to deciding if the rush in his chest had any correlation to the pound in his head.

While slowly grabbing a loaf of bread and wrapping it in silk, he dared to speak his mind,

'Do you realise... that you're not alone?' Merlin spoke strongly and yet the delivery sounded weak within his ear.

He chanced a glance to his King and the expression was unmoving.

He partially broke in a different sense and was determined for the favourable outcome. Merlin strode to his master and freely and with such meaning that he was caught between extending his fingers and clenching them; anything to stop the unbecoming shaking.

With blue eyes earnest, Merlin pleaded to his King, 'I'm always here for you sire, if you should need me.'

Few words, yes, however chosen wisely, and with the correct amount of passion, would tumble pillars of earth.

Merlin liked to believe he saw something in his King which responded, the spirit locked under the paralysed flesh, however he resumed his own tasks and then spoke heavily,

'I don't need anyone, Merlin.'

The manservant, acquiring symptoms of embarrassment from his exertion, not his actions, returned to the table.

The King may not need Merlin... but he needed Arthur.

**XxXxX**

Merlin thought the trip would be able to lighten the load which had been weighing upon the King's shoulders.

However, Merlin was to be the carrier of what the horses couldn't; since the rich always took luxuries as well as necessities, Merlin was forced to slow his pace as to not drop his own load.

The forest had been as it always had; however less bountiful now it seemed to Merlin.

Merlin had hopes that maybe, despite his aching limbs, there was to be a most beneficial advantage to being in the background to the party's picture: this gave him a perfect opportunity to observe. He had hoped the Knights, with their boisterous brotherhood and generous intellect, could force the King into a way of talking again, thus giving _him_ the opportunity to forget his woes.

However, upon being able to rearrange a bag here, and reassemble a piece there, Merlin felt his anticipation leave him chilled by the King's blank expression, his horse separate from that of the main party. His robe flowed over the horses back, a brilliant red, a beautiful contrast to the forest's dirge green and browns.

Even his shadow had grace.

**XxXxX**

Once they had slain two deer, only then did the King seem capable of loosening his tension. However he was still guarded.

They made rest in a glade by a bridleway. The Knights were seated in a circle, making idle chat with each other and some being brave enough to enquiry the King about something trivial. Merlin looked immediately to see his reactions: they were proper, respectable, and only carried remnants of a happy spirit.

While Merlin was trying to think about ways to tempt the King into good humour, did he realise that there was no birdsong. Above the noise of the Knights' laughter and the clatter of cutlery, was nothing but the crackle of the fire, used to cook the meat.

Merlin felt a sudden unease, and looked to his King and found a similar expression of weariness. The King was alert, and subtly looking about his surroundings.

Calculating.

'Move out.' The King spoke with finality and no room for an alternative.

Once everything was in order and to satisfaction, they started along the neighbouring bridleway. However Merlin still felt an ominous wind and the very essence of his magic was sharp and stimulated.

He thought he heard a noise, so after leaving his last vision of the hunting party in healthy condition, Merlin turned to look beyond the track and into the distance. The dirty path was trodden into the forest floor. The wind was still.

Then through the bushes suddenly emerged a gang of men. They wore the clothes that indicated an allegiance to Morgana.

Merlin dropped the belongings like chains and his magic burst forth with speed and a rush, uprooting the bottoms of the strongest oaks and heaviest chestnuts as to create a fall that would be fatal.

Upon hearing screams and cries, Merlin snapped round to be given a vision of red merging with the trees. The Knights had dismounted their horses and drawn their swords, none had fallen yet but their initial attack had been sluggish due to the guerrilla force unexpected.

Merlin sought out the King.

He was currently battling one of the men, his sword strong and gleaming in the light that broke the branches, blood staining his armour and dripping off the blade.

Before Merlin could have time to think of a solution, or calculate an appropriate form of support, even instinctively, a silent warrior was moving quickly to the King, mace prepared and aimed, upon a horse and charging. The King's back was turned and he was outnumbered, his struggles prevailing but only barely. Through the din of metal clashing and slitting flesh, it was impossible for him to be aware of the oncoming doom.

Merlin did only what he knew.

He ran towards the King, dodging all blows in his direction, eyes forever set on his mark. Once reached, Merlin pushed with all his might to topple the King and the next thing that he was conscious of was a searing sensation that shot from his shoulder and cascading over his body immediately with jagged and defined pain.

The Knights had driven the ambush to a retreat.

Merlin found himself suddenly unable to stand, and his legs, as if the bones had been removed, buckled from under him and the servant collapsed with a sickening plunge to the ground.

He was not worried, the King was safe; however the intensity of the wound made his eyes ache with salt, and a slow, descending darkness was his fate.

**XxXxX**

When the confusion of suddenly finding the canopy and sky his object had passed, the King got up onto his legs and levelled himself; only to find his manservant occupying his previous place, lying on the ground, unmoving.

Sensations of panic bit his nerves: the form before him was distorted and blood seeped through the blue fabric.

'MERLIN!' The King cried as he ran to his manservant and examined the body, lifting it to be placed in his lap, supporting the head while franticly looking into the closed eyes; unresponsive to his hands desperate try for revival. The skin was pale and already coolly flushed to touch and it was now that the King found the source of the pooling blood was a deep serrated wound vertically across his left shoulder. Without a moment's hesitation, he stripped his servant of his scarf and wrapped it tightly and securely around what he could to prevent further loss of vital blood. He thanked his stars they were close to Camelot while gathering the body in his arms and sweeping it over his own shoulder.

The Knights, upon seeing his servant unconscious, showed varying degrees of worry, however a common trait was the need to turn back and recuperate from the ordeal, and although some wanted to help, knew better than to coax the King into different methods.

The King placed Merlin across his saddle, climbed into it himself, then rearranged him limbs so Merlin was laying against him, head nestled against his neck.

The King ignored the lack of warmth he felt from the body and the ease at which it was to manipulate it to his will; instead supported it with the utmost care with his left hand, gripping the reins tightly with the other, and set a pace that would be fast enough to hope upon, but not so that he'd make the journey uncomfortable as to aggravate the wound.

**XxXxX**

The castle staff were easy to be rid of, and the King carried Merlin through the castle to the one place that could save him. He left the Knights to explain formally what had happened.

Upon bursting through Gaius' door, the old man, jumped back in shock, however was quickly taken aback by a different astonishment.

'Gaius, he's badly wounded.' No more meaning was necessary; all the King's fears were communicated either in those words or the restrained frenzy in his pupil.

Gaius led the King into Merlin's room and they placed him down with care and attention. Once the body was comfortable, Gaius immediately examined it and started to collect herbs, but only once a proper, more adequate bandage was supplied, the scarf discarded.

Gaius was deep in thought, lost in his own worries and his work; however he saw the King's locked, stone face upon the boy. The King's eyes were unwavering and thick, his body froze in what only could be described as if every muscle had been tensed tenfold and knotted.

'Sire,' only with words was the King brought back to the living, and turned to the old man.

He took pity on the tried and tired face he saw.

'Get yourself cleaned up, sire, he'll be alright.'

'Isn't there anything I can do?'

'Not for now, thank you sire.'

He would have to be satisfied with that answer, for no other alternative was either offered or possible.

When the King showed no sign of movement, Gaius spoke calmly and clearly, 'I'll need some space to work, sire, don't worry me.'

With this, the King turned to leave, and with one final longing look at his servant, exited the rooms as requested.

The air was thick around him.

**XxXxX**

The King had no rest.

For the rest of the day and the next that followed, his tasks were only carried out mechanically, for his thoughts were occupied and a ghost lingered near him, and pressed at his chest.

In the evening of this next day, was he given the opportunity to visit his injured servant.

Gaius had exited the room previously, informing him of how Merlin's wound may be stable, but he should prepare himself for the worst, for the boy had lost a vast amount of blood.

The King now found himself seated next to the motionless body, a single candle the only light.

He thought it cast an unearthly glow around the room, made him realise the dire situation he was in with crushing might. Merlin's face was pale and showed no sign of healthy blood, the surface of his skin was coated in sheen of sweat and his lips were inactive and chapped.

The King thought that he'd rather have Merlin's body feverish and raging in the bed, for this inert being showed no visible sign of life or spirit.

The room was silent.

'Merlin,' the King dared to break it.

'Merlin,' he spoke again, his voice damp and yet still held strong.

'Merlin, please try.' He spoke with light demand.

'I understand I haven't been kind or open with you,' and it was now that the King felt his hand seek his friend's, the skin there was also moist and clammy to touch, cold, but he wasn't sure if those textures belonged to Merlin or his hand was a catalyst to know his own 'But-' the King's voice broke lower and he immediately stopped.

Upon regaining composure did he continue, 'But - I will try, I will Merlin. But first you need to come back to me.'

And now, in the silence of the room, the face once full of joy and acceptance now blank and vacant, did Arthur find his resolve slip and his hold upon the hand became tight, his muscles cramped into such a position.

He leaned forward as to be heard more, collapsed onto the floor and begged the body, 'Please, please don't leave me here alone.'

**XxXxX**

The King stared into the blazes of his fire.

The fireplace was crackling nicely, the oranges licking the hearth's roof, almost raging forth. The warmth was not comforting; it created irritating rashes of mood. The glow however, did cast an ethereal light, however it was frightening, and not worthy of awe.

The King noticed none of this as he stared blankly into the fire, his body still, save for the firm thumb under his strong chin, the index and middle fingers of this right hand coupled together to press to his temple, as if to press some sense or maybe contain his mind from overflowing and dousing the flames.

Or increasing their strength.

His lips pursed in deep thought, his eyes reflecting great sorrow: this is what transpired in his mind:

The King had to let his servant go.

He had came to this decision deep into the night, troubles taunting his brain, gnawing at the flesh, the image of a sleeping Merlin cursed and scarred deep within his skull.

Merlin had been extraordinarily loyal, to the point of it being ludicrous and only these thoughts gave the King mild amusement, but once the realisation of what Merlin was prepared to do; what he had done, sunk in and pooled like an illness, swirling and churning in his stomach, did the King's smile turn into a grave grieving.

He had felt these sensations before, when Merlin had risked his life to save him; back then he himself felt passionate as to save his servant, grab his hand and pull him from the mouth of hell in which Merlin took his place.

However, now, coldness entrapped him.

Never before had he been worried of Merlin's leaving.

He believed, in the past, he had maybe felt as he did now, only buried the emotions too deep, somewhere in the recesses of his mind and forgot about them: they had been distracting and they didn't help him rescue Merlin.

But now, with nothing to do but wait, were they able to be opened: they broke from their prison and consumed his mind like the black fog of despair they were.

The King understood that Merlin would do this again, if given the chance if he survived.

And this fact plagued the King's mind the most, for recently, he believed he had not been very agreeable to Merlin; on a level in which he dared to think that Merlin had gone above his call of duty.

Arthur didn't deserve such kindness.

Therefore, continuing the hours of the night at an escalating rate and frequency, did thoughts of desolation, dejection and disappointment within himself circle within his heart.

**XxXxX**

Merlin woke to bright sunlight.

It was blinding, concentrated and centred within his room.

He opened his eyes slowly, the pupils contracting in pain at the adjustments of not being favoured over the recent hours and found himself in his own bed.

Then a dull throb rattled his shoulder.

Despite the dreary ache the movements insinuated, he turned and found a bandage around the injured area.

He found his breathing to be laborious and upon raising as so to be leaning against what little headboard his bed produced, gathering his wits, and tried to ignore the encompassing affliction in his limbs.

Upon suddenly remembering the attack, did a knock at the door sound, tentative yet confident.

Merlin voiced for the person to enter, but found his speech to be gravelled and chained by the soreness of his throat, probably from lack of use, he thought.

The body that gave its presence was no other than the King.

Merlin felt an instant rush of exhilaration to find him in good health, and smiled that his emotions were so overwhelming.

The King did smile in return, however it wasn't happy, and then he spoke,

'Glad to see that you're awake.' His air seemed distant, but not in the ways it had been before, now it seemed he was concealing relief.

'It'll take more than that.' Merlin spoke with sweet innocence.

That seemed to make a significant blow to his King, for he walked straight to the window, looking out not looking for anything, his hands behind his back.

Merlin wondered why the formalities.

'Merlin,' the King spoke with authority and a slight fondness Merlin hoped, 'I've made a decision.'

_Decision? Whatever about?_

The next statement seemed to create much confliction, for the King appeared to reinforce his composure before pronouncing it.

'I'm relinquishing you of your services, Merlin.'

A dull throb of the most unpleasant kind assaulted Merlin's senses. Astonishment bled to panic and Merlin couldn't contain himself before voicing in what was probably an improper manner, but the subject at hand was unbearable,

'You're sacking me?' and Merlin craved a glance at the King's eyes, his face contorting to comprehend why.

'You've been a good manservant, Merlin, despite your lack of conviction to begin with. I'll find you a post that's still within the castle though, so that you can keep the apartments with Gaius.'

'But I don't want another post!' Merlin cried with passion and only now did the King find his eyes and the locking was terrifying.

'Merlin, try to understand,' and the King started to make his leave.

Merlin could not, would not part on such terms. These terms were completely unexpected and the beating on his system was both terrorizing and intense.

'No, Arthur,' Merlin called with great vehemence, bolting from his bed and approaching the King. He didn't care for decorum in those moments, only the realisation of the pain parting from his King caused.

However the King turned on him and thrust him against the wall. His eyes were fire and his voice burning as he shouted, 'I can't lose you again!'

The following silence was stunning.

Merlin was completely petrified, not in fright, but in shock.

The King heard the echoes and rings his last words created, and his animal compose broke to something vulnerable, the first sign of true emotion Merlin had seen since that wicked day.

He collapsed inwardly, light leaving his eyes, and seemed to fall under the weight in his shoulders; while dropping his heavy head, the King instantly slowly released Merlin where he had him pined by his biceps.

'I can't lose you again... I'm,' Merlin listened with such severe attention, locks and strands of dirty gold all he could see, his King was breaking, or at least was his voice, 'I'm not strong enough.'

The King looked up now, his eyes untamed, as if not only did he feel pain at not having the strength, but that the attachment he felt for Merlin was so powerful it frighten _him_.

His spirit seemed to plead to a wide-eyed Merlin, 'I've lost so many Merlin, so many. And at times I feel it's all slipping away.' The King made small shallow gasps for air and Merlin realised he was doing the same silently. 'But not _you_; Merlin.' And the King swallowed, his plump lips waving damply as he communicated this truth, 'I can't lose you, Merlin.'

His vulnerability seemed to trouble him immensely, but that held no magnitude to the pain that was held in his eye.

This great proximity to his King, the strength of his will overwhelmed Merlin in their power and speed, but he was able to offer this one comfort.

Through a misty voice and damp exclamations, tentative knocks of his volume, he said this, 'I've believed in you, Arthur, when no-one else did-' Merlin specifically sought Arthur's eye, in case he tried to retreat, 'When no-one else _would.'_ Merlin hoped he was conveying all his feeling in these words, prayed his eyes were sincere enough.

'So, don't you _dare_, even for a moment, believe that I'd walk away - even for a moment, believe that will ever change.'

Merlin knew Arthur tried to be what he thought a _King _should be like, but now he could see the man beneath.

The King held his gaze for a long while, looked down slowly to Merlin's hand, and then, as if unsure, reached out to hold it slowly.

He squeezed tightly.

Then he let go and walked to the door, but before he left, turned and said, 'Get some rest. You'll need it for scrubbing my floors.'

Merlin smiled.

Arthur nodded.

And he left.


	5. Loyalty

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 5 **

**Loyalty**

'And it's not theirs to speculate  
If it's wrong and  
Your hands are tough  
But they are where mine belong and  
I'll fight their doubt and give you faith  
With this song for you'

**Ours, Taylor Swift**

The forest was peaceful at night.

The moon shone with all her brilliance, there to dazzle and bewitch those who gazed at the stars, enchanting her admirers to see a world full of beauty. The purples and the inks flowed through the sky, in waves of mass. Each and every star was a promise of heaven; the All Mighty's light twinkling down to his mortal children. The trees' greens were now indigo, the ferns and plants mythical hands of spirits.

The air was still.

Too still, Merlin thought, as he was picking herbs for Gaius. In the servant's opinion, such tasks were futile in darkness; however his guardian was adamant that only such rare and the most obliging plants flowered at night.

A fool's errand in other words.

Merlin's magic awaked within him, suddenly alarmed at a presence - he turned and saw Morgana.

How fast did his heart stammer in fear! Her aura was most dominant and confident, assured she won all that she needed to, and obtained all she wanted. Her hair, straw-like but black, no longer beautiful, but a bush of wires now found root in her skull. Her eyes were wild, like that of a deer; however, any innocence had been stripped off by experience. No rich silks covered her skin, only onyx lace, something to match her darker heart, a sickly contrast to her porcelain flesh.

She smiled, however it was not happy or to inspire happiness; it was to enthuse terror and stir his nerves.

'Hello, Merlin,' it pained him to hear her speak, a sadness that comes with always seeing one's friends fall beneath themselves.

Morgana had fallen so low.

She looked malnourished: a waxwork skeleton of the forest.

Merlin felt his nerves collapse, not in fright of her power, but in guilt of how she accomplished it.

Despite this, he remained cautious, as if approaching a wounded beast.

'What are you doing here?'

She stepped forward.

He stepped back.

She smiled again, however it lacked its pretended warmth, something sinister taking the place, 'Why do you doubt my motives so, Merlin?' and here, her face fell, her brow cracking in bided disdain 'We were friends once.'

Such mention of happy days should not be spoken with such secret contempt! They _were_ friends once. And Merlin hated, abhorred the ways in which she manipulated those around her.

'Unfortunately,' Merlin spoke, and he knew that his sadness was evident, 'those days are passed.'

She seemed to sigh, lighted her eyebrows for a moment as to remove the lines that adorned it, before being back down to a lowered level of scorn.

She hummed a noise of agreement, then sought his eye and pierced him where he stood, 'Quite right.'

Silence.

When Merlin was able to be master of the chills and shakes in his body, did she reveal her true purpose for this night's encounter.

'I offer you a place at my side, Merlin.'

No matter what Morgana offered, it could not be justified in any way. No matter what Morgana offered, could hold any goodness. Indeed he was shocked by the proposal, but he knew what she was now: with the appearance of a tainted rose, she was the snake beneath it. With her fangs drawn, poison purified, did she bit into him.

'With your power, Merlin,' and now, dear reader, be not mistaken: Merlin was not frightened of her, and did not shiver from lack of control; he was more horrified with how successful the world had been with taking her heart away, and putting ice in its place, 'and my resources, we could rule the world, or at least our portion of it. Think about it, Camelot yours for the taking, magic restored to the Earth and flowing through every branch, every river, every element that binds us in flesh. No-one would stand in our way, Merlin.' And here, with an uncanny likeness to Uther when hatred had gleamed his eyes, did she step forward, believing Merlin was in her trap. 'And the King would be on his _knees _Merlin, begging you for mercy.'

Caught in his reverie of how he had failed her and not prevented her descent was he now brought out of it. His body was now still, fixed in pitying anger of this great lady.

But how dare she mention Arthur in such a tone.

'What made you so unkind, Morgana?' and with every ounce of being he had left, tried to pour as much of his pity into those words as compassion would allow.

Now, her features boiled in anger, '_Kind?_' she screamed, 'Who am_ I_ to be kind? I have suffered at Uther's hand, that Castle has been my cage and now my wings are free to spread,' she stretched out her arms in mock of her plea, 'and it feels,' turning her hands into fists, breathing with intensity, closed eyes skyward, suddenly crashing down back to him with a madness so black, 'and it feels _glorious!'_

Shame, Merlin believed, crept into his body and made such a secure residence, he was afraid of this permanent lodger.

He looked at her with a melancholy so vehement.

Such feelings of how he did dearly sympathise with this woman, however found her conduct so self-perpetuating that it led her to destruction, a soul corrupted; hatred taking her by the hand and guiding her downwards, did he now understand he could not offer _his._

'I feel sorry for you, Morgana.' With this statement unleashed, did she stand normally and look like a human being, capable of happiness and sadness like others. She gazed at him with something akin to disbelief, eyes maybe pleading or shocked, the irids with sheen of moisture from exertion or misery, Merlin didn't know; mouth slightly agape as if wounded, lips twisted.

He walked past her. Their business was done.

She thought otherwise.

Turning to face him, recovering from her discomposure, upon realising that she couldn't win him, therefore must beat him, tainting her sweet voice.

'Why are you with him? Why do you stay?'

Here he stopped, not a conscience thought, but an instinct.

There was almost something like curiosity in her voice, however not to replenish lack of knowledge, but to mock what she found. She must have seen the way his muscles tensed under the weight of the words, for she smiled and laughed with her lips closed.

When he turned back to gaze at her to answer, he found no lady, but a wounded predator having found the weakness of her prey, instead of showing the creature mercy, deciding to rip it out and make them bleed like she had done.

Yet she still looked like a lost girl, the tired lines of her face conveying this silent message.

'Why do you ask?' Merlin remarked, voice hoarse.

'Oh come now, Merlin,' she raised her voice in fake sympathy, turned up lips and saddened eyes to accompany her tone, 'I've seen the way you look at him, honestly, you're like his pet, always running after something for him. I admit, he shows a strange fondness for you -' now having grappled his heartstrings, did he fear her daring to tug, 'but did you _honestly _believe that it extends to "friendship"?'

Merlin swallowed, closing his eyes as a last resort to the tensing behind his eyes.

He opened them resolved. She smirked as if she won a prize.

'I stay, because I know that he will be a great king, more than he already is.' His voice was firm and decisive, something she found most disagreeable, and it showed in her fury.

'He'll _kill _you as soon as he finds out _what _you are Merlin. Face it; you're living a dangerous game, betting on the losing side; the ban of magic still stands sentinel on the law!'

She'd dared to tug, and in retaliation, was his communication thus: he tried to be reasonable, and have some sense while portraying his sensibilities, for not only had she insulted his destiny, but someone who was indeed his _friend._

'If you truly believe that, then you don't know him like I do.' His voice was damp, maybe wavering under the pressure she emitted, but he stood still like any other, '_He _has only known suffering from magic, and yet I believe there is a part of him that will accept its goodness. He is willing to try. And what do you do, Morgana?' He found his current conduct highly dislikeable in the way this may cause her grief, but the justice in defending his friend was more important than the pain he may be inflicting, her features showed a girl reprimanded, 'You do not encourage him, you do not help him. Instead you would have him classed as "evil" when he shows discipline; "unjust" when he is doing what is right for a wider peace,'

She was silent.

'You stand here, Morgana, selfish and cruel, lost to your emotions and loathing any rebuke towards our kind. You wish for magic to return, yet you try to obliterate his influence in restoring it by your self-centred actions in removing him. Yes, the ban on magic is still in place,' He prepared himself for what was to come, for he himself found no pleasure in this,

'But it is to protect his people from creatures like _you_.'

And now, she seemed thoroughly distressed, for no fire did he see in her eyes. It pained him to address her so, in such a passionate manner. Whatever she did, he would forgive her, for she knew not what she did.

Tired himself, and wishing to end this conversation, he gave her a parting gift of enlightenment, he knew to be their last words to each other.

'You gave up on him, Morgana, but that is something I cannot do.'

He turned and left, forgetting about the herbs, they could wait, and not caring for her cries that followed him in echoes; upon realising his departure, she screamed his name, but he refused to put fuel on a fire that was beyond his control.

He did however; look back in the sake of hope, when he was at the castle wall...

The forest was peaceful at night.

**XxXxX**

Merlin walked the castle's corridors with an uneven step.

It hurt, more than any sensation he believed, when someone close wouldn't see something so _good _through his eyes.

As the torches flicked and flared in their sockets, blazing heat and light alike, he was well on his way to Gaius' rooms, when he passed the King's and remembered his duties.

He sighed, paused, and breathed before entering the chambers, trying to calm his shaken nerves.

'Sire,' he proclaimed. But, instead of seeing the King maybe at his desk reviewing reports, or standing proudly, angrily at Merlin's punctuality, a condescending and reluctantly endearing demeanour in his eyes; he found the King leaning heavily by the fire, left arm outstretched along the hearth, his right dead at his side, red shirt hanging loosely on his broad, toned frame.

He seemed deep in thought, considering.

But this was broken of course, by Merlin's entrance, and the servant expected a shout at his impertinence, however he was met with a knowing look of amusement.

Merlin was confused as for why the expression was placed so significantly on him, but then he remembered their earlier discussion and proceeded to correct himself; realisation fresh and daunting.

'Arthur, sorry, sire. _Arthur_.' He said again, eyes wide in self-irritation.

The King smirked and looked, momentarily, without any troubles: his shoulders slightly moving, a heavy breath escaping in laughter, and his arm joining the right.

However, this was a momentary moment, as opposed to one that might have been prolonged, and the King returned with his conduct of solemn reflection, gazing back into the fire as if the flames had answers.

Merlin didn't understand why the King was acting this way, but felt inclined to move the subject on, as to bring forth that smile once more.

'Do you need anything, Arthur?'

The King paused, 'No, Merlin.' But then, did not give Merlin leave, but curved his watch on _him_, as if suddenly realising something special, but it gave him great pain; a glint portraying this in his eye, something Merlin believed was not a reflection of firelight.

'Do you think I was right Merlin? In what I did today?'

Suddenly, Merlin understood. The King must have been having second thoughts on sentencing a sorcerer to death for treason, however Merlin felt strongly tended to answer him truthfully, and remove all doubt and sombre seldom thinking from his master's mind.

'Yes, Arthur,' he answered with no hesitation, praying his features portrayed his earnest thoughts, 'he was using magic for evil purposes, you even gave him a second chance and yet he still abused his power.' Merlin stepped towards Arthur, as if a closer distance would communicate a stronger message.

Arthur nodded and accepted his reasons; however he still seemed disturbed, once again watching the flames.

'Do you think me a good King, Merlin?'

'Of course,' Merlin thought these words might be perceived as being spoken _too _quickly, for the King looked up, his eyes questioning.

Merlin continued, slightly fluttered and voice rough, but it was steady, 'You share your money with the poor, you've made taxes so that they are proportional to someone's income, you've established fairness among your knights and have given equal opportunity as far as you can.' Merlin nodded, as if speaking these accomplishments made their worth more understood, 'yes, you are a very good King, somewhat bewildered at times maybe, but you always make the right decision.'

Merlin felt then an increasing gravity towards his master: his pains felt as greatly as his own.

But what he said next was mostly unexpected.

'After all our time together, Merlin,' and here, the intense blue eyes were once again _in_ him, permeating under emotion, 'you still manage to surprise me. I think I know you at times; then you do something to prove me wrong.'

Merlin blushed at his low voice and the words it spoke. He didn't know how to reply, and with Arthur's eyes locked with his, words were most unattainable.

Fortunately, he didn't have to find them.

'If I were to be banished from these lands, Merlin,' he started, 'and my crown taken from me, my riches stripped: what would you do?'

The seriousness of the situation was one that Merlin was not expecting; however, he found it within himself that he was not unprepared.

'I would go wherever you went, Arthur.'

Never were words spoken with more earnest sight.

'But I would have failed you, and yet you'd still follow me?'

Merlin smiled a happy smile.

'There and back again.'

The King chuckled, finally his brow relaxing after their tedious day, and Merlin felt a warm glow that his words had created such raptures.

The King nodded with a shining look, turned and spoke one last time, 'You're a good manservant, Merlin. Now go, it's late.'


	6. Truth

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 6**

**Truth**

"Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. "I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you."

"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing."

**Charlotte's Web, E.B. White  
**

There was no light in his cell, and the door which was the only sensible access to the outer world, the hinges of the metal were frosted with a dazzle of rust, the wood rotten looking however sturdy as in it were still an oak, and was bolted from the other side.

At times Merlin thought there were two locks.

There was no sound in his cell; he thought that maybe he could hear his breathing, but the air was so thin, or rather his lungs were shallow at their fleshy walls, that his breathing was silent.

Shackles bound his wrists, an uncanny similarity to the door in appearance. Upon them, chains that were somewhat clearer, however not cleaner, fettered him to the wall. The chains held his arms at such an angle that binding his ankles would be inappropriate and unnecessary; so Merlin was left to crouch, on his knees, his breeches frayed at the hems, and bloody stained at where they made contact with the ground.

Merlin had been stripped of his shirt, instead given a dress of scars and cuts, bruises and scratches to litter his once clear skin. Merlin let his head fall forward, not because he had lost dignity, but because he had lost hope.

The cuts on his lips sent a pleading sensation in the form of a sting to his nerves, however the call for help went unanswered, and the slit was left to bleed in sorrow.

Merlin thought he might be able to handle the cold, that his body would become so well acquainted with its chill, that the friendship would at least make him indifferent to the arguments; but the stench of dirt, and that which assaulted his body, was something most unpleasing: the grime could infect the openings on his body, thus breeding a child so ill-favoured, that the surrounding areas would become black with shame and destroy themselves; however he couldn't find himself to care about that, or his current situation, only _how _he came to be here plagued his mind.

A sound.

A tear.

What hurt Merlin the most and taunted his mind, like the rats gnawing at his food, deliberating placed in front of him but just out of reach, its purpose not to satisfy, but antagonise a reaction and lust for it, was the last sighting and recorded memory he had obtained of the King's face.

Disbelief.

Shock.

Pain.

Bewilderment.

These were among many emotions screaming on the King's otherwise silent face at the time he knew.

Merlin had such hopes for their future; creating a peace so magnificent it would be holy, and that when Merlin deemed the time to be appropriate in manner and necessary in experience, only then would he tell his King.

He did not like to keep the truth from the King, for he knew that with each day, each passing of the sun would the King's hatred and disgust in him grow - these feelings would not come from the truth, Merlin believed, but from the delay of its impact, making it consequently deeper.

Oh how he loathed Fate now! How he abhorred it with a passion so diminished in its defeat, that the consequence of the circumstances made a being tired, and desperate.

How he wished events could have been unravelled with his disposition, his dexterity!

Merlin had thought of that imagined moment every day. It was the thought that was with him in every sense, it was the ghost which calculated and catalogued the King's expressions as to may be his reaction to such news.

What Merlin didn't realise was how close that ghost was to his heart.

No longer an anticipating spirit was it, but a vengeful poltergeist now. Oh, how it bit and hit and struck Merlin's mind, grabbled at his heart and taunted him with a face that he would never see, and that the face's last memory of him would be of a realisation of betrayal, with Merlin's chance for redemption stolen.

A sound.

A tear.

Merlin thought that the moment of realisation would be by his hand, by his control; that he and the King may be alone in someplace, that the time, manner and resting of words would be to his approval, or in such a state to lessen the blow Merlin would inevitably strike. Merlin lay in thought upon his bed many nights, wondering how to communicate the truth to his King, and who by now, had no doubt to be his friend.  
Merlin wished to tell his friend a truth that would unfortunately distress him due to a nurturing defect, but he always had hoped that due to _their _time together, Merlin may be able to be a candle almost to Arthur, to take him by the hand and lead him to the, maybe blinding, but saving light.

However, Merlin was not given such an opportunity to bestow Arthur such a motion.

A sound.

A tear.

Oh, how the King would loathe him now! The blow was dealt with all its mighty strength, but Merlin had been stripped of the chance (to drop balm where _he __had_ wounded). Instead, Merlin would not be surprised, even expected, that the King would grow in resent of him, maybe until it was ugly and black, that would seal his kin's fate.

Merlin suspected that the pain's power he had inflicted came with their time together. Merlin was aware that the longer he waited for an opening, the deeper the knife would penetrate; his temperament just forbade that he think of a time of if he waited _too _long.

After all their time together, all their shared and exchanged trials and tribulations: those of beastly beings, vicious vendettas and frenzied friends, would create a cushion for the King to support him on when Merlin told him something so intimate, so secret and so sacred, that the King's reaction would not only affect his perception of the gift in its entirety, but also his feelings toward Merlin.

A sound.

A tear.

The King would not come to save him.

Not now.

There can be no place for _magic_ in Camelot.

**XxXxX**

_The air was shining the sun was so bright, and yet a gloom seemed to linger in its depths that day._

_A meadow is where the event took place, a classic plain of drying grass and a lonely stream discarded by God at the side. _

_Merlin was guiding the King's horse at the front of the pack, the noble complimenting his men's accomplishments with a new peace treaty, another one to add to their list._

_Merlin trudged on, smiling sweetly, selflessly._

_But then this cloud, previously mentioned dear reader, seemed to be moving, and upon closer inspection, Merlin confirmed a positive conclusion._

_The grey dust then swirled and twirled until a figure could be seen within it._

_Morgana._

_And as soon as Merlin caught her gaze, as soon as the dirt was banished from his eyes to allow him to see a somewhat more clear picture of his surroundings, the wind grappling their clothes, it vanished._

_But in its place was a beast unlike any other._

_Its face was devilish, the eyes red and filled with blood, the iris wild, as well as intelligent. Around this head was a mane; a close resemblance to a lion. The body continued in this fashion: large, heavy, and the beasts' veins bursting out the tight skin. However no tail of a lion did it possess, but a scorpion's weapon, bright with blood and ready to strike. _

_If the creation was left as thus, Merlin thought maybe the encounter would have been smoother, however after pleading for freedom, the beast had obtained wings of a bat: muscles agile and a display of deftness in movement. _

_The perfect killer._

_And when the beasts' saliva dripped onto the ground, its growls shook the earth and it advanced._

_What happened next was a series and sequence of battle cries from both human and beast. There was death of fellow good knights and Merlin was left helpless, cast aside by the King in hopes of preventing an unnecessary casualty. So Merlin watched, while the beast raged its task and performed it with furious finesse. _

_It devoured its prey whole and left no clothes, bones, or possessions of the prey behind._

_Merlin knew the outcome if he didn't intervene, bloodshed staining his hands already. So, while praying that nobody could allocate his actions, and hoping the frenzy of battle would distract eyes, defeating the beast more important than a servant's whereabouts, Merlin reached for the nearest sword and enchanting it with light, made it fly directly through the beasts' heart, blood spurting on the other side._

_Silence fell._

_The Manticore fell._

_The sword fell, the heart still pumping slowing._

_Now dear reader, understand that Merlin knew the probability of getting caught, however, also understand that the King's life was more important than his secret._

_The knights cheered, thinking maybe the sword was from one of their own efforts, the more ambitious ones already boasting it was them, and a slight dispute was already cracking._

_But when Merlin met the King's eye, there was no relief, only pure distilled astonishment and stillness of breath._

_The dust gathered once more. _

_It entrapped and encased itself around Merlin._

_And in his daze, as his heart pumped slowly, sharply, a sore throb piercing inside, Merlin saw darkness next and knew no more._

And here he was, chained to a wall, beaten and broken, Morgana's laugh resonant in the silence.

A sound.

A tear.

Merlin had lost his only friend.

And it was all his own doing, he sincerely believed.

**XxXxX**

Maybe days had passed, Merlin did not know, for he had no time instrument to certify this, nor even the position of the sun.

Suddenly the rats in the cell all dashed at once for a far wall. A strange sensation of ominous degree overcame Merlin and he felt his heart start and stammer.

A man's cry.

Merlin's head instinctively whipped to the sound, his breathing shallow.

Another cry, a muffle, the drawing of a sword.

Merlin's eyes were wide in fear: continued sounds, approaching him closer were that of the guards and neighbouring men to keep him still were dying, the crashes, the subtle beatings, becoming closer and more distinct.

Then a silence; a silence that was deafening.

Then suddenly the door to Merlin's cell blasted open and there, in the dim candle light, was not a solider sent to kill him, nor a vengeful sorcerer.

Merlin's eyes went immediately wide, salt rimming the bulbs, his breathing irregular to balance his gasps,

_Arthur._

His King was standing before him, chainmail dim and coat of arms damp with dirt, the dragon still gold, but without the golden sheen the original thread bestowed.

His King's hair was gently attached to his forehead, said area of skin frowned in the aftermath of battle, casting shadows upon his face where they shouldn't be. The strands and locks of blonde were damp with sweat, thus were of a darker shade, thus giving him the appearance of a mad man; this illusion increased by that of his ragged pattern of inhalation, no doubt there were still a sensation of urgency within him that only comes with approaching doom, entering a place so forsaken it clung to the skin like a plague.

Merlin could not see his eyes, not until he raised them.

Merlin knew not what he felt in those moments, but unadulterated sensations of gratitude.

No breath could Merlin find, for there was no air to breathe.

His King's eye was of a tried temper, downcast and dark, tried and ready to be done, however there was a spirit within that would not quit until his task was accomplished with maximum yield, it would not leave unsatisfied.

However this determination changed almost instantaneously upon regarding Merlin's condition.

A troubled glaze washed across his pupils, the black absorbing that of Merlin's trampled and bust body. Confliction Merlin identified, with the sense of pain due to lack in punctuality. However _this _was soon masked by a hardened countenance and one that approached Merlin with a steadfast fixture.

Merlin let a sound of wet breath escape him again, sensations overpowering and overwhelming in his King's presence!

'Sire,' Merlin brokenly whispered, 'why are you here?' A battle of confusion waged war in Merlin, that of self-loathing and an apprehension as to why the King would be in the presence of someone who had lied to him.

'_Shut up, Merlin' _was the distant reply he received. The voice was heavy, the voice was thick.

As Merlin desperately clung to a sane composure, the King brought forth a key and unlocked Merlin from his burdens.

He was there to catch Merlin as he fell, his body weak from lack of use and nutrition. With the King's arms around him, Merlin felt how thin he himself had become.

Where the King touched his skin, it felt drily moist, gritty with dirt and dried blood, but it was sweet and burned so beautifully on contact.

The King, with haste unparalleled, lifted him, but Merlin cried out in protest at the pain.

'I-I can't!' he wept, his legs' bones warped and the muscles limp.

Upon this exclamation, the King took Merlin's hand and wrapped his arm around his shoulders as to support him, as so Merlin could lean on him as he walked.

They then proceeded on in this fashion once a comfortable pace was set.

Merlin feared that his discomposure would probably spark some sort of disapprobation from his King, but he was helpless as to prevent it.

Such raptures surmounted him in those moments! Such sensations of esteem and gratitude besieged his every fibre!

Merlin bit his lip as to prevent further sobs; however, his spirit was locked in its goal for release.

There's nothing Merlin could ever say, no, nothing he could ever do, to make Arthur see, how much he meant to Merlin. Through all the pain, the blood they bled, despite this lie - he'd never said goodbye.

And now Merlin knew, just how far he'd go…

Arthur should not fear his inadequacy; he should fear his light!

In those moments, Merlin felt such a bond to this man, such a drawn sensation that it ripped through him to be placed in the other with such intensity and vehemence in its speed and velocity, that he believed no other had felt such ways as he.

And if this was wrong, and he was given the evidence, then Merlin was convinced that he had never breathed, and the tears that streaked his face in elation repressed were not human material.

**XxXxX**

They were in the neighbouring forest by now, pasted the territory of Morgana's abandoned castle grounds.

There was a glade in the forest, a quaint patch of grass amongst the ferns, leaves, creeping plants, oaks, beeches etc. And there was a horse, pleasantly, but what looked urgently, attached to a tree by a kempt rein.

It seemed perfectly fine.

The sunlight was also able to cast his glee upon the patch, and it was here that Merlin found himself.

After being able to walk without assistance, the King reclined his aid and went forward to attain his horse; however the impression that compressed Merlin's heart was unyielding, the only antidote of this sweet symphony Merlin feared was answers.

His sobbing had not subsided, and his limping didn't seem to attract attention from his guide. When they were in the glade, Merlin's spirit could no longer be contained; yet he feared provoking a beast within the King if he was careless in his delivery, and suspected the justification for silence in return. But the call could not be ignored.

So Merlin cast a plan; combining instinct with caution, and addressed his friend.

'You came alone?' Merlin feared that maybe the King would mistake his touched astonishment for something else.

The King's back remained large and fixed, 'Yes,' was the curt reply Merlin heard in front.

By now the King was doing his next occupation which he carried out perfunctorily: that of checking his mare.

However Merlin's voice could not be restricted in this silence, however tentative it was; it needed some verbalisation of reassurance that he was not hated by someone he cared so dearly for. Merlin spoke again, not being satisfied with the result of blankness with trying to see if there were any marks of scars where he had injured thee: on his face or his eye, both were expressionless, his manner and decorum that if Merlin were a stranger.

However the tension did not excite the latter, could not support it.

'Arthur!' Merlin suddenly exclaimed; his legs no longer able to walk, so he staggered to a halt; his voice breaking with fissures of emotion, the torture of silence and disregard felt deeply.

The King stopped his actions at this.

He paused, and this moment of decision was the longest Merlin had ever known.

But then the King faced him with such a vulnerable expression, such a pleading eye; a direct and cutting sign of the damage dealt; Merlin only hoped the spirit within was not so immune to repair.

What precise consciousness they mutually experienced...

The King was silent, Merlin's voice so longer found.

But then, 'Why-' his King began, 'Why didn't you ever tell me?' and it was from the exposed volume, the tired delivery, that Merlin's doubts were replaced with something much more striking: he had feared the King's wrath, however, he was met with his friend's _suffering_.

There was a clear expression in the entirety of his features, every small detail creating the larger picture of how Arthur seemed to be experiencing pain that his friend had lied to him, or at least withheld this truth from him, no doubt intensified by their time together.

Merlin's mind immediately panicked while his heart immediately lunged to comfort him, however bound by veins; so many words he needed to express with such little preparation.

'I wanted to.' Merlin simply spoke, voice small.

'But?' his friend gently pushed, his eyes glazed, making the iris' less bright but more vivid, bottom lip pouted in his aching pain.

Merlin wished to eradicate all such feelings; such illusions his friend may have developed that he wasn't worthy of being told, that Merlin held the truth from him in spite, that Merlin didn't consider him with any lesser cherishment than Arthur bestowed him now.

'But you'd have chopped my head off.' It was a pathetic chance for humour, for the depth of the meaning was too realised.

'Are you so sure?' Arthur voiced, knowing Merlin's answer would be negative but obviously needing that complete assurance his friend didn't think of him so low.

Merlin gave him _that._

'No...' a hoarse, almost silent response.

'Then why didn't you tell me?' Arthur now seemed to be at the brick of his distress and Merlin knew he would have to rise to such levels to bring him down again.

Absolute honesty could only follow.

'Because I didn't want to put you in that position.' Merlin spoke with passion at last, hushed and broken, unable to continue with living if Arthur didn't understand: understand that Merlin did not do this to vex him, but to protect him.

Arthur understood.

Understood that if Merlin had told him sooner, he may have not been ready for such a weight to be given to him, the possible confliction with putting his friend in an evil stage as would his Father had; even if he had accepted Merlin, then he would have dabbled in hypocrisy: allowing a sorcerer to live while the law banished the use of it from others.

_Oh time, thou shall untangle this not I, 'tis too hard a knot for me to untie._

Silence.

And what hurt Merlin now was how he couldn't decipher Arthur's looks.

Until, '_That's_ what worried you?' escaped his mouth, partial surprised by Merlin's confession, partial surprised by something else.

Merlin felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he gasped at the speed at which it was removed, the balancing of pressure painful in the most delightful of ways.

But then Arthur approached him, and Merlin was silent again.

The King was so close to him that he could not move, for his gaze restrained his muscle.

And what a gaze as was emitted by the King! One of ultimate communication and bearing of soul.

'No more, Merlin,' he ended, 'No more secrets.'

Merlin nodded, so very thankful.

But, upon realising that this very sentence inspired Merlin to want to exclaim something different, Arthur turned, and signalled for him to ride with him:

'Looks like we'll have to share this one.'

**XxXxX**

Several days later, Merlin found himself and Arthur patrolling the outer boarders with the Knights on rumours of a supernatural kind: whispers in the night around the boarding villages, children screaming from nightmares and cattle behaving violently who were once docile. Gaius suspected spirits; Merlin did also, which didn't help his growing anxiety. If the cause was spirits disturbed, then they could all be in mortal danger, and the process to pass on these beings could be a long and difficult one, and if fate would deem so, blind to them until it was too late. The only comfort to Merlin right now was the gentle ebb of the horse's motions as it went back and forth, and even then, this did not calm him, only prevented his lamentations of his active mind from increasing into the almost frenzied.

Once they got into the dark forest's deepest parts, Merlin noticed a shrine of sorts. It was placed within a small valley, with ribbons of cloth and woven things strung from string like laundry. The atmosphere of the place, the very air, was still and unwelcoming; no sound seemed to penetrate the valley rocks.

Merlin told Arthur profusely that they shouldn't be there, that it was sacred ground to the druids and that, although it was very possible the unleashed spirits came from this place, the answers would not be here, only danger; they would have to find another means of communication to the being. But Arthur turned down Merlin's request of leaving: he respected Merlin's judgements, but since Merlin did deliver the discourse with hastened breath, Arthur thought there was some agitated influence behind Merlin's words. Which was the complete truth, but it wasn't the anxious kind of a scared boy.

One of the Knights found a little cave somewhere in the middle of the valley's side, while Merlin silently chanted in his head for a clear future.

Again, Merlin objected to entering, it would be defiling the ground and could do more harm than heal, but Arthur laughed slightly, and proceeded into it; therefore, naturally, all followed.

However, once all inside, the entrance to the cave was then blocked to them by a shaking quake that made rocks absorb the light.

Soon, boisterous remarks lifted from the Knights, teasing each other of being frightened of what was within, some poking the others with the torches, which they had attained from the valley also, much to the distain of the one under the torment.

Throughout, Arthur was still, looking beyond himself, and Merlin noticed this change in position, in posture.

Suddenly, a figure of light appeared to them as a man, who wore white sheets of the purest silver on a rock, his figure bathed in a somewhat heavenly glow despite the warm washes of the flames. Once the pleasantries of drawn swords was pasted, questions asked if he did this and if he knew a way out, all was answered with this simple sentence:

'You have sinned against many of our kind, Arthur Pendragon, and until you repent for such actions, you will remain here, or perish as justice.'

With his old, torn voice echoing from the stones, the man vanished as Arthur swung his sword to his head in anger, a bellow to accompany it.

Merlin saw Arthur's quick breathing, and knew instantly two very potent things: the Knights knew nothing, and Arthur knew all of what the man meant. The King seemed to be fretting to himself within his mind, his eyes half-blinking rapidly, his teeth barred brokenly, his eyes shifting slightly. No-one but Merlin saw this, for he was at an angle to see Arthur's almost profile, while the Knights deliberated amongst themselves.

Merlin wondered what sins Arthur had committed to unleash such a consequence.

Arthur then gripped his sword with a vice like grip, his leather glove tightening and turned around. Upon establishing there were enough torches amongst them to be shared in pairs, that would also last for another two hours approximately, Arthur split them into partners, to go down each tunnel to try and find an exit, then call from this main chamber where all the arms extended from.

Arthur ended with Merlin, and they shared a look, Arthur obviously aware of Merlin's lively imagination, his need to help, but he pressed on, Merlin having no choice but to follow, unless he wanted to be left in darkness.

**XxXxX**

One hour had probably pasted, Merlin did not know, for he had no sun to see, no candle to estimate.

Currently, he was holding the torch as so Arthur could try to scrape through a pile of rocks which he insisted could be moved by mortal hands.

His gloves lay beside him, discarded and dirty, small dust like fragments of copper filth sprinkled here and there, as they lay on the cold brown ground.

Merlin looked upon Arthur with much sorrow, sensing that whatever happened here, or somewhere else, it gave the King much distress, for his arms were not steady as they pulled and yanked at the rocks as he crouched even lower, praying for an opening.

In the silence, save for the flame's dance and Arthur's actions, Merlin thought now was as good a time as any.

'Arthur,' and the King did not even flinch at his name; Merlin did not know whether to think this a blessing to continue or a sign to be still, but he progressed nonetheless, 'what happened?' Merlin did not need anymore, for Arthur knew what he meant, they had been in each other's company long enough to sense emotion and decipher each other's use of tone.

But still Arthur did not answer, and for a while he slashed at the rocks with vigorous, strong motions, until he must have cut himself from the effort, because he leapt up and staggered back with a dash and a wince. Merlin immediately approached him, ready to help, but Arthur brushed him off, and Merlin knew to keep his distance.

The silence was prolonged; Arthur's shoulders board and tense, and Merlin looked on him with, not pity, but sympathy, a yearning to understand, to be let in, as Arthur fiddled with his scratch, until he deemed it too irritable to continue.

Arthur then spoke, with bated breath, and by his tension, Merlin knew to listen, the way his throat contorted graciously with the swallow, 'Back when I was younger, many years before I met you, Merlin, I was sent on many,' the discourse seemed to be greatly painful to his King, 'missions, to help the effort of purging the land from magic,' Merlin's figure grew still with that mention, and Arthur seemed to sense it, making the proceeding text all the more difficult and raw, for they had a new secret between them, 'We would... we would go to suspected villages, _interrogate_ those we thought responsible, or we'd just lay siege to a druid camp,' Merlin was very still, chest compressed, 'and when we charged on them, _I _was to lead,' Merlin looked on at Arthur, understanding Arthur needed to communicate this, and he felt blessed, that Arthur could trust him with such information which seemed to curse him so; as Arthur looked down, or at anywhere expect Merlin, he concluded with, 'and we burned the men as we burned the tents, the houses, nothing was left to stand; no mercy was to be shown.'

Arthur was so ripe with the recollections, his lips full and eyes blue, filled with oceans of thoughts, but when he did look at Merlin, his composure snapped instantly, 'Do not look at me like _that _Merlin! What did you expect? While the King slaughtered innocent people, did you think his _son _would be lavishing in his delights, while the world around him was burning in hot flames?' Merlin did not flinch under Arthur's eruptions, for he knew their cause, but Merlin could not answer, not yet, not because he was disgusted, but because he was overwhelmed. Arthur then snatched the torch, and went away.

Merlin gasped, once Arthur was movements away.

Merlin was speechless because he felt Arthur's suffering and he understood it: he had lived under Uther's reign long enough to see how he handled such issues, and feared discovery every day. Arthur knew this now, and to have a personal connection with what he had to kill, much more than likely made the already poignant guilt sting even deeper within Arthur.

Merlin knew his actions were not his own, but commanded and expected of him: Arthur had no escape. And for a few moments, Merlin was stunned into thinking just what it must have been like; how Arthur had to create pretence while it must have seemed that the world around him, all the suffering, all the cries, all the stricken faces... while it must have seemed the world was coming to an end.

Merlin knew the Arthur now was not the Arthur then, both of them in fact, had changed dramatically, so he did not harbour any ill-will towards his King, he did not blame him; he only wished Arthur knew that. Arthur was not alone anymore; he was not lonely anymore, because Merlin was with him _now_.

So, before the light faded, Merlin briskly stepped after his King.

**XxXxX**

Another hour had passed, maybe, for the flames on the torch were becoming dimmer every moment.

They were sitting on opposite rocks in another dead-end, Arthur finally falling on the stone, close to hopeless.

No-one had called with triumph of an exit.

Merlin looked at his King, who, from the weight of the reminding of his actions and his past self, slumped in his sitting.

Merlin wondered if Arthur's shoulders physically ached sometimes.

'I think talking helps,' Merlin said, quietly, but not tentatively, as he was before.

'I know,' Arthur said with a gruff, moving his hands together slowly, for it was Merlin again in possession of the torch.

'Then why won't you talk to me? It's only me, you and the walls here,' Merlin placed carefully, for he knew there must have been more to the story than Arthur had revealed, and Merlin needed to know everything, because he knew he could not completely take the pain away from his King, but he knew he could share it.

Arthur smiled sadly at this, but something changed within him, maybe it was the ink in his eyes, or the shallow of his brow, that permitted a thought for further talk, the final revelation.

'We didn't just burn them, Merlin,' he spoke, low in pitch and grave in tone, 'We killed the women and children too,' Merlin felt as if his lungs were being crushed by the walls around him, and Arthur seemed to be sunken in his mind, lost in thought, 'I asked... I asked so many times if they could be spared somehow, but my father would always refuse my request, and I was left, left with hearing them scream.'

Now that Merlin knew all, that there was blood on Arthur's hands he could never hope to be cleansed of, Merlin now knew that there was a part in Arthur, a devil, that gnawed at Arthur's mind, and called him a monster.

Merlin thought that was all, and the King would give him time to reflect, however he continued, but not in the fashion he expected, 'You once said that I could be a great King, Merlin,' and they shared a gaze now, because they both sought it, and what vision Arthur was, still so powerful in appearance when he was at his lowest, 'do you see greatness in me now?' The statement was said with such sardonic nature, that it cut Merlin to hear Arthur so evidently brimming with self-loathing.

But Merlin did not exclaim loudly, nor did he leave Arthur to himself: he spoke softly, and honestly, because he had to: to see the stone set in Arthur's eyes, to see the thorn twist in his side, from the sleight of hand and twisted fate which he was plagued with, Merlin had to,

'No,' he said simply, which sparked sad interest in his King, 'I see something better,' Arthur was all frowning curiousity, and Merlin hoped this could communicate his faith, he breathed, '_goodness.'_

Arthur seemed astonished, then overwhelmed by some feeling, because he actually smiled wetly, which inspired much happiness in Merlin.

After a moment, Arthur spoke up, 'It seems Merlin,' and here, he smiled again as if thinking something ludicrous and ridiculous, shook his head sideways, then said to the silence, 'I can't live, with or without you.'

Merlin was filled with such emotion, for, although Arthur's actions might to someone make them think that it was words said in jest, they were not: by his chosen words in themselves, the volume at which they were uttered and the weight in which his gaze placed on Merlin, the warlock knew them to be spoken with the purest of earnestness.

And if Merlin thought he was breathless, hands tied in tension, then he definitely was now, 'You are a loyal friend, Merlin.'

And Merlin thought it rare, that he found himself speechless and breathless simultaneously.

Thankfully, Arthur spoke for him, on a new topic, pointing to the matter in question, 'The fire's almost out,'

'Yes,' Merlin started, then looking to the torch, 'yes it is.'

And, when Merlin looked back, he silently startled at the fact he thought Arthur closer than he was before.

However, the intimacy of whatever possessed them vanished, when suddenly, upon the ceiling; great stones flashed then glowed, in a vivid light green, leading them to somewhere else.

They frowned at each other in quiet question, then followed the stones, and after a while, not too long, they found the exit.

They were permitted leave, the Knights already there.

And if, on the journey home, Arthur looked at Merlin more and longer than was strictly necessary, and if Merlin glanced his way, and caught him in his ministrations, and returned the sentiment, then at least they had the knowledge they went unnoticed by the others.


	7. Beauty

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 7**

**Beauty**

'The highest and most beautiful things in life are not to be heard about, nor read about, nor seen but, if one will: are to be lived'

**Søren Kierkegaard**

The branches by the lake were swaying contentedly in the breeze, no woes did they face, only quiet strength in self-assurance. The sun was out but her rays were cool, which cast this watery world into a sense of blue of the peaceful kind. No loud noises disrupted their time, no sudden flashes of movement: the forest was still, apart from the swaying of the branches by the lake.

The water in which Merlin found himself and his King standing in was not cold, however did possess the quality of clinging to their breeches up to the knee, soaking deeply into their skin; fingers lapping at their calves, leaving cool chills where it was reluctant to leave, but the tide's waves insisted that the water move on: it could visit again shortly.

Merlin and the King were here for a very unique purpose, and one that Merlin did not think would be a reality so soon.

Many, if they looked at the events as they had passed, may think Merlin in danger of losing Arthur's affection; however, Merlin did not fear such a fantasy, for his friend had made it explicitly clear, not in his words but in his eye, that it was not the truth that vexed and hurt him, but the _concealment _of it, and the possible doubts Merlin himself might have had to carry out such a task for so long in _them_.

It was liberating in fact, for Arthur to know.

Merlin before, could only think about what it would be like, however now that he was in such a change of life, a change in the pace to his breathing; he realised that the reality of events and beats in the world are much more different to the anticipation of them. They are more vivid in colour and brighter in voice, and oh how Merlin's smile which to shine.

When they had reached Camelot that day, Merlin found himself not afraid that Arthur would hate him, for the passion in his actions and the base meaning of him performing what he did spoke more than expression could achieve.

They went into the King's chambers, somewhat of a solemn and tense atmosphere; this fact could not be denied. But Arthur wished to know all. He sat Merlin down, and with a brow that commanded gently for the truth to be revealed to him, for the knowledge of time, place and manner to be his own to possess also: Merlin gave him all he desired.

It was in moments such as those, that Merlin was able to fully appreciate what a just and fair King Arthur would be. What he is.

After their conversation, broken by a few silent tears on Merlin's part from the sensations of such a communication, for the surreal feeling of it all was Arthur able to understand Merlin completely: the sacrifices Merlin had made for his King, the pain he had to endure alone and if debt were to be accounted for, then some would say it was the King's to be paid. However, no such businesses were to be discussed, for what Merlin had done he did it selflessly and _for _Arthur.

He said nothing for days.

He was quiet on most matters.

That was until he grasped Merlin's wrist one day after training - sweat diamonds caressing his naked chest, some finding comfort in the tendrils of the chest hair that gathered finely on his pectorals - did he gaze into Merlin's eyes, calling out to him, taking Merlin by surprise and putting him into a daze when he was able to conquer the strange emotions of Arthur's proximity and heat, to then focus on his own pupil, to see something quite vulnerable. The King then asked:

'Help me understand, Merlin, help me see.'

And the servant knew they were safe. Through the tender minds and giddy speed of what had happened, they were safe.

Therefore, here did Merlin find himself, in a lake with the King opposite him within breaths distance, simple clothes worn by both, with branches by the lake swaying in the wind as he helped Arthur to understand, understand a portion of his people to which he was blinded to for most of his life.

Before he said anything, Merlin took a time to study his King's face, a task he was well acquainted with and enjoyed thoroughly; this fact was too true to be contradicted, so he spoke of nothing to his self.

The King's height, he noted, was indeed the same as his, however of course, the build was far wider with muscle and years of training compared to Merlin's lean form. However, what made Merlin wish to smile most, was indeed how the King had inclined his head, therefore part of his brow was to be covered somewhat by his hair, and the eye that connected with his was waiting with expectation and a...

Merlin could not say pride, but he could not say anticipation:

He would settle for, 'eager, quiet curiosity'.

He smiled at his King.

The sentiment was returned, though somewhat hidden.

What Merlin had come to realise was this: the revealing of his true self had not frightened Arthur nor enraged him, but had indeed sparked a something deeper within him that Merlin cherished, for he felt closer to his friend more than he had in all their past dealings. Their friendship, he was enlightened to, had not been broken by silence on matters which could harm one and pain the other due to their separate upbringing and a powerful subtle destiny that was already forming, but had been strengthened by an intimacy in knowledge that Merlin found himself to be...

He wished not to say lucky,

He would settle for simply, 'closer'.

'Feel the air, Arthur, feel the wind as it flies.' Merlin spoke, with tentative happiness.

The King did as was instructed; a display of goose bumps a physical proof.

'Feel the water, Arthur, feel the lake as it is drawn to you.' Merlin spoke, with a voice quiet and deep.

The King had closed his eyes now, closing one sense to enhance another.

'Feel the earth, Arthur, beneath your feet, feel how it moves and breaths like us.'

'Feel the fire within your heart, Arthur, the same as the earth, the water and the air.'

Upon some moments of silent reflection, the elements and the King in a state of stimulation, did Arthur open his eyes when he felt Merlin touch his wrist.

Merlin smiled his amusements at Arthur's shock, the way his eyebrows momentarily inclined at the touch, lip forward, eyes concentrated on that one place they were connected and the strange familiarity of an action unknown. He then looked up to Merlin, and once more their eyes engaged.

Merlin swallowed.

'Magic is in all places, Arthur.' The pace at which his heart did beat was unnerving, however he did continue, 'You just have to look closer, listen.'

When Merlin let go of Arthur's wrist, for a moment, he thought he saw something to mean that Arthur missed that connection.

He struggled and let the sensations pass.

This would be the first time he cast magic in front of his King intentionally, however he was comforted by the knowledge that he was in no danger of death, or losing his friend.

He made sure that Arthur was looking his way, and with a look of pure openness, did he cast a simple spell into his palm. He hoped that by keeping Arthur with him in this, by keeping his eye that he could guide him in a pace which would be pleasing to him and gentle for the other, a pace that maybe words could not attain. He wished for Arthur to see it in his eyes, to witness the gold that passed over them.

Arthur gasped quietly, but otherwise was silent.

Merlin wished not to startle him, and upon his assurance that Arthur could cope, he lowered his hand and revealed the contents.

In his palm, was a tiny flame.

It rippled in its nature, and from the wind's subtle temper, but remained delicate.

Arthur smiled, just a small something hidden at the sides of his lips, but there was an acceptance, a fragility that demanded to be cared for.

Consequently, this made Merlin exhale suddenly, a breath he knew not he was holding, and a smile beamed across his features.

Arthur looked up, and Merlin realised this was the most exposed they had seen the other.

'You can hold it too,' was the first thing that escaped his own lips without his conscious permission.

Arthur looked cautious, tentative, as if he wished to accept the offer but knew not how to ask for it.

Merlin held his wrist once more, feeling the heavy bulk of it, and placed Arthur's hand gently on top on his own.

By the placement of his thumb, he could feel how Arthur's pulse did race and run, he communicated reassurance with his face. Arthur's eyes were locked on their joined hands, and before long, Merlin whispered something else, his eyes glazed gold once more, and the flame grew from Merlin's hand through and into Arthur's.

Merlin removed his hand and Arthur was now holding the flame in his large palm.

He shattered out a bark of laughter, the smile remaining.

Merlin knew what a step this was, and felt a sudden twirl around his heart. Upon looking at Arthur again, realised how it did tug at the strings which held his being together.

He smiled also.

The King then looked up and the flame was gone.

The wind blew freely past them.

How things had changed indeed.

This was a new beginning, Merlin mused to himself, a new chapter to their book, a new turn in the world; and he thought they'd be better for it.

Arthur's eyes were wide, exposed and were trying to communicate. The King then suddenly grasped Merlin's forearm and the grip was a vice, tight and deadly, the fingers that were his chains unyielding. The King then looked into his servant's eyes and there, Merlin found no breath could be obtained.

He seemed so sad, so very damaged. The King seemed to wish that what he would say next would be able to carry the weight he thought it needed. And on closer inspection, there seemed to be a blaze of something else: how he knew that holding Merlin so close to him was unbecoming and inappropriate for a man of his station; how he wished to do this anyway and was conflicted between proprietary of social and emotional means. He seemed to be unable to voice this, and by his physical strain this was known to Merlin, but all he wished himself was for Arthur to know that he had been able to converse all of this without the necessity of speech.

'I-' the King began, 'I will, Merlin-' Merlin waited patiently, filled with concern at his friend's struggle, how he dropped his head, a collapse in composure, but then he lifted it again, and Merlin then realised how very blue his eyes could be, 'I _will_ lift the ban on magic, Merlin, just-' Merlin didn't fully comprehend _when_ his own mouth had become agape, nor why there was a gathering of water in his vision, 'Just give me time.'

Never before had Merlin wished to embrace his King with such intensity. The rush was quite sudden and all Merlin could do within what little barriers they had now was to smile.

Arthur saw Merlin completely:

The very real and beating eyes of azure that shone with their waving tides; his clear, fair complexion, the full lips and rosy breath. Arthur noticed a dimple in the middle of his bottom lip, and a sudden wave to taste it overcame his body. The sensation was accompanied by a warm glow in his core at the need to entangle his fingers within the thick blackthorn hair that Merlin possessed. There was kindliness beneath his fingertips which seemed to mature also.

Arthur saw Merlin completely.

And it is what he realised _inside _which made him flush inwardly himself.

He cherished Merlin's open smile, the stripped expression of friendship and acceptance, exposed only for him, he knew.

And for one moment, or for as long as was appropriate, Arthur entertained the idea of always having it.

Merlin smiled more, and it grew stronger.


	8. Duty

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 8**

**Duty**

"There's a drumming noise inside my head  
That starts when you're around  
I swear that you could hear it  
It makes such an all mighty sound"

**Drumming Song, Florence + The Machine**

The King came striding through his doors, completely unaware as to the scream it gave the hinges, and continued in this charge of fashion until he reached his bedside. Merlin, occupied with cleaning the fireplace, equipment in hand, was most astonished as to have such a sudden loud entrance, now the air was still and motionless. He wondered if the King had even noticed _his _pretence with making the effort of stating his own. He wondered what could vex the King so, as to physically display his disapprobation.

Carefully, Merlin set what he held aside, and from his crouching position, appeared so that he might be in view.

The King's back was turned, a wall solid with stone muscles. He breathed heavily, the rush of air into and from his body both visible and audible.

Carefully, Merlin approached him to an appropriate distance, as to stimulate their friendship however not to seem invading or commanding, then spoke softly and with quaint confusion, 'What is the matter, Arthur?'

The King remained in his statue form, so much so in time that Merlin believed he either didn't hear the question or was so entrapped within his own thoughts, other sounds were banished.

He prepared to speak again, howbeit, the King stopped all his thoughts with a simple sentence, and the tone in which it was given had the cloak of a proud man, however, it covered a tentative and sensitive nerve, 'My council would,' He paused, trailing to find the right words 'Find it advisable, and desirable, that I marry... and soon.'

Firstly, Merlin was surprised by the intensity in which sensations gripped his heart, however, passed the moment and avoided the unexpected pain by discovering the details as to why the King spoke with a voice which knew its words could harm, however believed a cause was overpowering it.  
'Did-' Merlin was most struck with the difficulty he had in talking, and wondered if he was coming down with a cold, 'Did they suggest any... suggestions?' Merlin knew his question lacked conviction and sophistication, but he was too distracted with the need to see Arthur's face and what he truly thought of the matter: where his words may be someone else's, Merlin prided himself with understanding Arthur's eyes, and the words _they _spoke.

The King answered his silent wish and faced Merlin.

His face was stricken, pale and conflicted: lines and shadows were not in the familiar places Merlin knew them to be, and the furrow of his forehead was one of a spirit trapped.

It took him some moments to realise he was holding a breath, and that Arthur was doing the same.

Strange, strange vibrations teased the muscles on his brow, causing a worried look of fear to permeate through; Merlin hoped his emotions were not so transparent to the King as he felt them forming.

What silence took them now!

And how very strange it was, to be so silent in each other's presence!

'They did,' the King broke, 'but if I am to marry, to secure my throne and kingdom, as is the custom of my position, I would rather choose who would take the place.'

Merlin did not like the volume Arthur chose: it was dreadful and grave.

He did not understand it explicitly, he was too provoked by the chills on his bones, and what he was meant to understand he knew not what for the King held him captive with those eyes, as if the predator knew the damage that would be dealt, maybe not only on the prey but also on themselves; all these sensations made Merlin not wish to know _who,_ for they seemed capable of great destruction.

Yet, due to the situation Merlin and Arthur were given from their position, and what current minds were striving to hasten, the answer would be inevitable.

The calm before the storm was silent, and Merlin waited, still.

'I think... Guinevere might be able to fulfil that role.'

Oh, oh what tremors did succeed those words, and Merlin did not know why. The King seemed remorseful and his eyes begged for mercy yet Merlin could not place what they asked.

Guinevere.

Merlin was dear friends with her. She was a sweet girl: short, plump, bright hazel eyes, complimented and made sophisticated by the darker hazel of her skin. She was an exotic creature in appearance, and this seemed to make her unique, _that_ made sweeter by her blissful ignorance of it. She was pretty, curled hair natural and fragrant. Good-tempered and docile was she, always wishing others well and not thinking for herself. She was kind with a generous heart, and if Camelot were to have a Queen, Merlin could think of few who could match her in charity and beauty.

The fact she was a peasant girl, one who served, might even spark her as a favourite among the people.

_One of us is there, she raised her stars_ would be the motto to the new chapter.

Therefore, due to her good disposition and sweet sincerity, Merlin found it most perplexing that he felt such stammers in breath.

Suddenly, his air was shallow at the thought of the King attached to someone else, and the only cure that Merlin found satisfying is if he had time for personal thought.

'She will be good for the Kingdom, sire. Do as your heart wishes.' With these glazed words, with glazed eyes did Merlin turn and start to exit the room, mindless as to his previous task.

But before he could leave the room, the King approached him quickly, footsteps loud and echoing, placing his hand upon the handle as so Merlin could not leave.

Merlin felt himself descending, and wished for nothing more than some quiet and solitude, yet he was met with beseeching eyes, a sorrowful face, and tender lips.

Merlin looked at what was presented, and found, in its melancholy state of vulnerable anguish, that it gave him more pain than he could fully describe.

No words seemed to be able to be spoken between them: their fates were sealed.

They were still for some moments, just gazing, processing at what could and wouldn't be.

Yet in the darkness, Arthur offered something to this effect: with deep eyes he spoke with a solemn voice; it was quiet, and far too intimate,

'I value your friendship, Merlin.'

And the _force_ at which he tried to convey all his being into those few words, the precise pupil which pierced Merlin's soul; Merlin found himself most destitute in spirit, or maybe bursting with it. Arthur seemed unsure in how Merlin would react, and the desperation was permeating through his features; Merlin then wished to calm his anxiety, soothe him.

He was too overwhelmed to decipher his own heart, but he somehow knew which words he wanted to say, and they came naturally.

'You will always have it.'

With this final whisper, and broken syllables, Merlin darted slowly from the room, unable to be held prisoner by that gaze any longer. His mind had never been in such perturbation; and it needed some great effort not to collapse until he was given the chance of quiet reflection.

**XxXxX**

Merlin walked through the corridors, unaware of what transpired around him.

When he came to Gaius' apartments, he entered them mechanically.

He did not hear the door close behind him, for his mind was so _loud._

What strange chills did cascade down his torso!

What shocks of pain did wrap his heart!

What strength in straining did his eyes tear abundantly!

He stood in the study, not fully conscious of his surroundings, more looking inwardly.

The idea of Arthur's being possessed by anyone certainly did vex him greatly. He thought of what duties the King would now have as a husband, and found that in his family portrait, there was no place for himself.

A new tremor!

In matrimony, Arthur would be a willing slave to his crown, people and wife. Merlin thought of all their past history and how quickly it could all be made meaningless. The worth he was to Arthur would collapse. The only binding contract that kept them together was that of their destiny.

So was it Merlin's fate to forever be in Arthur's shadow?

He found that image unpleasing; however he knew he could bare it for the King.

With the King in his new circumstances, Merlin would most likely be pushed beneath, but he found he felt very intimate towards Arthur, and although their friendship was strong, would it have any time to grow now? He cherished Arthur's company, but a life in the dark would be most cold indeed.

He then worried for Arthur's happiness, and if married life would be satisfying to him. He hoped the King did this for his own interests and not from persuasion. If Guinevere was unfit to stand on the monument, then who was?

Camelot needed an heir.

And, after these lamentations and the similar passed, one thought called out to him, as Merlin now found himself pacing.

_If Arthur were to be with somebody,_

Merlin turned in his strides,

_Then, surely, that somebody would be,_

Merlin stopped, and froze, froze in ice,

_... me._

Merlin cried in sudden ambush of feeling.

His heart seemed to disintegrate within his chest and the more he tried to move or breathe the more it tore.

He collapsed to the table, arms spread, desperately gripping for a surface; however his legs were numb and heavy and pulled him to the ground.

The thud he was senseless of, for the bleeding on his brain was anguish enough.

He was so aware of these emotions before, and realised that maybe he had kept them secret to prevent such a downfall.

However, he was enlightened, now, and he yelled once, twice for Gaius, somebody to help, for it felt as if a demon ate its way into his breast and now feasted on his heart. He felt his nerves buckle in pressure, sharp snaps of sensations sending blinding torment through his limbs.

An unstoppable sensation escalated in his stomach; he knew not what to do. His thoughts rose in fear of what was happening to him and his heart beat faster, harder than he ever thought possible, with sore heartstrings he thought it might leap out of his very chest!

A cold sweat broke on his skin, forming a layer of dampness that seeped into his bones. He never had felt so cold, never had felt so pale. Blood rushed this way and that, unyielding for escape.

He laid there in panic, blows of spasm red inside his core, seizures and feverish muscles possessed him and visions blurred before his eyes.

He sobbed, too great an event unwilling to be contained.

And it was too late.

Oh what instruments of evil were composing his tragedy?

To fall before the lion: hopelessly devoted to one that could not be yours.

He knew not why he wished for Arthur not to marry, for he understood its importance and the sense of it. And yet his unexpected love for the man did taunt him and plague him so.

No matter what could happen, how events unravelled; they could not be! Not only was Merlin a peasant, and to try to even attempt at being superior to his station was a most dangerous act, but furthermore, Merlin could not give Arthur an heir; and to disgrace him so, Merlin could never wish for selfish reasons.

Guinevere could.

But the evil that hurt Merlin most poignantly was now she could not make him happy.

Merlin thought, had heard, that love was to be all made of sighs and tears: such intense emotions felt so strongly that physical barriers were overcome; it was to be all made of faith and service: Merlin had serviced Arthur mostly loyally and would continue to until God thought it necessary to have his final breath; that love is to be all fantasy: for in reality, such a good thing is impossible; love is to be all made of passion, and all of wishes, all adoration, duty and observance, all humbleness, all patience and impatience, all purity and all trial!

Merlin wept.

And so was he for Arthur.

Merlin knew not how long had passed, maybe thought he should attend some chore as to not be missed, but found that all energy had been released from him.

Guinevere would make an elegant, fine Queen, one that Camelot could respect and admire.

Merlin thought of the duties she herself would now have to endure, and found where one might feel resentment, he felt compassion.

He would not dwell on the injury that he had felt, nor entertain the idea that the King felt the same.

How could he?

Where liquid salt was irritating his eyes, he feared them red, he wiped all evidence and sniffed.

Guinevere would _try_ to make Arthur happy, of this he knew, and Merlin resolved to feel all happiness also in the match, despite his personal emotions, he would promote growth where he could.

He felt almost able to recover, maybe not internally, but able to make an effort in appearing all cheerfulness, all sensible behaviour, until he heard a knock on the study's door and the accompanying voice,

'Merlin, are you in?'

Insufferable, sweet girl! Could she not give him peace?

Merlin summoned all of himself and focused the energy, of what he had, into presenting himself in a friendly, welcome manner.

Adjusting his clothes, he approached the door and opened it.

Guinevere stood on the other side, her white underclothes surrounded by the dulling yellow. She smiled, portrayed all looks of excitable energy, and briskly entered the room after an exchange of smiles.

Merlin still felt himself shaking.

She had seated herself by the table, a welcoming aura emitted in her gaze; she clearly wished to communicate some news, however maybe found it rude if it was not initiated by another or didn't know how to proceed to introduce the topic without appearing improper.

Merlin took pity, sat opposite her, and thought that the greatest kindness he could give her was to at least listen.

'Why all the smiling, Gwen?' Did he start, and blinked heavily as to contain himself.

She glowed as she spoke, 'I believe, Merlin, that something amazing will happen, you must know what it is? Or do you not? I dare say that I was ignorant of it before, but with its happening I'm sure my feelings will become clearer.' She spoke too quickly; Merlin thought, however overlooked the fact kindly and widened his expressions.

'You must tell me Gwen, you seem fit to burst!' He joked almost light-heartedly. He felt immensely guilty to the possibility that she might be able to sense his unease, he didn't wish that, so he made an ultra effort to appear calm, interested, collected, and where appropriate, politely indifferent.

He wished not to be selfish.

However he knew this danger had been averted, for she started, blushed to herself while inclining in thought, then once her reflections were complete, looked on Merlin and resumed conversation.

'I think- no I dare not say- but I must- oh how am I meant to feel Merlin? Tell me how; you are so wise in strange circumstances!'

'If you told me what news excites you so, then maybe I could help,' Merlin chuckled. He hoped it seemed real.

'Do not think me improper Merlin, it would pain me deeply to think I had your bad opinion, but-' and here, her eyes sparkled in total wonder, then stimulated her words into life in a hushed whisper, 'I believe the- Arthur, will propose!'

Merlin harnessed what quivers came to him into what would appear to the ignorant astonishment and surprise, 'Are you sure?'

'Yes! He has been most kind to me recently, and with the council talking of his marriage, for he has told me as such, I thought to myself why would the King tell me such a thing, it is none of my business. Then, I realised, that maybe his plans were to be directed to- well me! I thought of him, and thought him handsome,' here she blushed again, and with forced encouragement from Merlin, proceeded with her intimate thoughts, 'I think quite well of him. He is an excellent knight, do you not think Merlin? And what astonishes me most is how very huge his heart is! I have never met such a man whose heart is so open and so caring. He has singled me out on numerous occasions, and with no other ladies at present, it is only natural for one to feel attached to such a great man.'

Merlin, through this entire conversation, was able to steel his skin, his eyes, but not his heart as it slowly, and yet quickly, crumbled.

'Merlin, as his personal manservant,' she now seemed embarrassed for crossing such barriers, 'do you think my thoughts irrational?'

Poor Guinevere, her eyes hopeful, her lip worried.

How could he hate her?

He sighed.

'I- I think them perfect. But I did not tell you anything, you must understand.'

The words burned, poisoned his lips as they passed, and the joy they brought her only dulled the ache temporarily.

'Oh Merlin! Do you not think him the most courageous man? He is so very superior to other men, do you not think?'

He could not stand it any longer: all previous perturbations prevailed his best labours, and he wished for her not to see him cry.

'I really think it best you leave now. The hour is late and with each passing moment it becomes more likely that Gaius will return. Therefore, I urge your parting: he is old and does not like delays and obstacles when his bed is so very near.'

She seemed flustered by the sudden outbreak, but understood.

'Of course, oh dear, Merlin,' and she held his hand, which he tried not to hurt, as she looked into his eyes with such gratitude, 'thank you,' she whispered, before smiling and leaving.

He walked with her, not wanting to be rude and to be assured of her absence, and when she left the study he did close the door behind her.

He rested his head against the wood, the dull ache of it a disagreeable irritation which he could not care for now.

He felt incredibly culpable: he had resolved to appear the utmost pleasing of people, demonstrate civility and intimate friendship, to help her and guide her; however he found that his own misery did not match his want to please her!

He knew not what to do.

He sighed, and stayed in that position, leaning against the door; silently weeping for a time he did not care about, in the silent study.

**XxXxX**

The wedding was something beautiful.

Merlin found he was able to conduct himself into a happy state, for Arthur at least. He was all smiles, all laughter, all joyfulness, all approving.

For Arthur he did this.

But in the silence of his room, in the darkness before his dreams, did he feel it.

His eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swim round him, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow. Self-abandoned, relaxed, and effortless, he seemed to have laid himself down in the dried-up bed of a great river; Merlin heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, and felt the torrent come: to rise he had no will, to flee he had no strength. Merlin lay faint, longing to be dead. One idea only still throbbed life-like within him-a remembrance of Arthur: it begot an unuttered prayer: these words went wandering up and down in his ray-less mind, as something that should be whispered, but no energy was found to express them.

_To be forever devoted to another, forever tied, to watch them become something magnificent, is the position I am. It is my destiny._

_But what sweet sorrow it is!_

But human woe was near: and as Merlin had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it- -as he had neither joined his hands, nor bent his knees, nor moved his lips-it came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over him. The whole consciousness of Merlin's life lorn, his love lost, his hope quenched, his faith death-struck, swayed full and mighty above him in one sullen mass. That bitter hour cannot be described: in truth,

_The waters came into his soul; he sank in deep mire: he felt no standing; he came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me._

Merlin, with a green and yellow melancholy, would stand like patience on a monument, smiling at grief.

Was this not love indeed?

**XxXxX**


	9. Betrayal

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 9**

**Betrayal**

"here is the deepest secret nobody knows

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)"

**E.E. Cummings **

The flowers were being taken down.

The tapestries replaced with their originals, the candle holders moved.

Despite the sun shining through the vast windows to his left, casting a labyrinth of yellows on the hardwood floor, there was certainly a melancholy aura to the air Merlin entered into now.

He found what he had been desperately searching for, and with a low voice, not due to caution or previous exertion, but from fullness of feeling, did Merlin speak to him; his back was turned, arms folded across his chest, stance drawn out and tired, not strong enough to withhold the perfections of civil falsehood.

Merlin, therefore, could not distinguish anything upon his face, or how and in which ways it fell.

'I'm sure-,' the King immediately, aware of Merlin's presence, inclined his head to the right, not so much to look at Merlin directly, but enough that he may see his figure from the side of his eye.

Merlin had to pause, for he felt it all so much.

His King's face was pale, the eyelids half closed as if he was drowsy; his bottom lip protruded in a pensive position.

Merlin considered how his King must be feeling, and would, if it was within his capabilities to do so, would vanquish all doubts and sorrow from his friend's mind.

Oh how he wished it.

'I'm sure, sire, that if given the chance-' his voice was hoarse and barely worth listening to.

But Arthur heard it, turned fully this time with his head; however his body had only made a small adjustment to accommodate the angle.

Merlin was petrified to the spot, not in horror or fear, but with the dejection that was in his King's eye, the iris dull, the pupil weak, and there was also a faint frown to be found about him in posture as well as feature.

'Merlin,' he swiftly, softly interrupted. He smiled barely; Merlin hoped it was from, maybe, a realisation of sorts that maybe Merlin was here because he understood the pain that was in him, and wanted to soothe its edges. However, due to his smiling, even if the thoughts had taken place, and were held with conviction, their potential for good would not be released.

There was a bitter gloom in his countenance.

Only if Arthur knew the truth!

It was such mockery to be this close to him and yet be placed so distantly!

Arthur then looked at Merlin, met his servant's miserable gaze which tried to appear in high spirits for him, and spoke: his air with lack of nutrition in its diction,

'Merlin,' and he spoke with stone words, blunted, and resolved in the truth: determined and locked in this way of thinking, 'I trusted her, Merlin- and she betrayed me,' his vision hazed, Merlin noticed, 'I will never let that happen again.'

The King turned around from him, the conversation was finished.

But Merlin continued to look at the King's back, saw the tension and hated it, hated it for he knew what ease in him there _could _be.

He waited for while, for what he knew not, then walked away forlorn.

Arthur may have accepted these events as certain and his fate, but if it would give him pleasure, if it would give him reason to rejoice, Merlin would attempt to make him smile.

**XxXxX**

The proceedings which had led to such fixation of mind were as follows:

The marriage had been happy, for a time, Merlin thought; however this peace in their domestic affairs was not to be forever.

Lancelot's return, after so many thought him dead, was an astonishment, surprise, shock to all. He was welcomed with all civility and even a celebration to mark the joyous occasion. Lancelot's, as was only natural, rank as 'Knight' restored unto him, and the intense happiness embed away into a slow contentment.

Merlin thought that would be all, however there was more, which he only saw before it was too late to prevent or warn either party involved.

Lancelot looked upon the Queen with jealousy, not the ugly, cowardly kind of green, but a sadness that knew heavily the loss at not winning the prize sooner. Merlin wished to council the Knight, let him convey his woes in a way that may make the process of letting go less painful, more achievable, in a manner so that Lancelot would not be too damaged by his love, unrequited, and so neither nobody would be in danger.

Weeks passed, and Merlin was assured, although the Knight still showed marks of nights not slept, Merlin hoped the future was to be a bright one, and with time, he may move on.

However, that was until he was awoken one night by Gaius, stricken and wild, who communicated all to him.

Merlin thought it was only Lancelot who felt as he did, understood the passion was strong but would be suppressed for the King and Queen. Merlin knew the adoration was in a state to be claimed permanent, but thought the fear of discovery, the shame and dishonour that would follow, would surely control it.

However, as knowledge dictated, Guinevere indeed returned the affections with as fierce a fire as was deadly, and in a moment of weakness of honour, or passion of love, satisfied their need to be together, only to then be caught by who would be hurt most.

Merlin could not only imagine the King's suffering but felt it too: how he would shout, how he threatened the intrigued lovers with death, locked Lancelot in the dungeon and Guinevere in her chambers.

Upon knowing this story, Merlin felt his heart truly fall.

**XxXxX**

As conditions unravelled, a close friend to the Knight released him and he fled.

The helper was discovered, and to minimise the absolute scandal that this affair would already shadow the land with, was executed privately, the body cremated privately.

Merlin saw Arthur fall like never before.

What had given him pleasure was now disgusting, what entertainments he had once laughed at, now received a grimace, what food he did eat, was distasteful; what happiness ever was placed on his face or in his skin, was now leeched from him.

And it hurt Merlin every day, such a precise and concentrated slit it was to his soul, to see a corpse rise out of his friend.

And even in this state, the King was able to show his Queen mercy, and did not burn her at the stake, but banished her wherein she took the veil.

And despite Merlin's best efforts, no spirit, no life, could he tempt from Arthur.

**XxXxX**

A letter was found in Gaius' study the day Lancelot fled.

It was addressed to Merlin, and in confusion as to who could send him letters, for he had no friends out of Camelot and his mother could not write, and he himself, having only learnt how to read as to better the efficiency of his position as the King's manservant, found the following prose:

_Merlin,_

_As the person who took me in I plead one last favour from you in my hour of need._

_Please, understand my regard for the Queen was not to be excited or tempted at first, I was to steel such feelings and enter a life of noble strength and honourable service. _

_But knowing how she felt, with her favour so obviously bestowed on me, the encouragements which I received from her face, her look, her actions, her tokens, my heart could not be stopped._

_I am most deeply regretful of my actions and do repent them, not in spite of our discovery (my feelings, I swear, were pure) but that it should entail such a monstrous consequence. _

_I am aware of the pain I have caused, of the peril I have put the kingdom into and all I wish now, Merlin, is for you to clear my name to the King._

Merlin started at the King's mention and read on in flustered haste.

_He is a dear friend to me, and to only imagine the injuries I have given him pain me deeply, so much so I can't begin to give them life with words, only know, Merlin, that I never wished, or did what transpired between myself and the Queen in spite of him. _

_I was foolish and not thinking clearly._

_I have wronged a great man and have wounded many people with my thoughtless proceedings, these grieves, I am sure, will live with me until I die._

_Please Merlin, I ask is for you to make the King understand that my intentions to her were pure and true._

_May we meet again._

And the letter was signed with his signature.

Merlin stared at the letter for some time, re-reading it twice over.

Merlin felt a particular friendship to the Knight, he was a good man, Merlin believed, and he thought about honouring his wishes.

However, he threw the parchment into the fire, saw how it tangled and twisted in the flames; his admiration of the Knight could not exceed the desolation he had subjected his King to, such actions were unforgivable.

It was a low justice and petty victory, and Merlin did not favour himself for it, however what is done is done, and Merlin wished to tend to the scars that were left behind without interruption.

**XxXxX**

He was bringing the King his evening meal now, Merlin even sneaked in a few extra slices of salted meat that the King liked so very much. He had a tender hope that the phantom in those chambers would smile if he knew Merlin was being reckless.

However, as he approached those chambers, shouts and yells were becoming more punctuated and louder. At first he feared for his King's safety, many a scene of blood filled his mind and his magic sparked with chills, however this was not the truth, for the wails were from only one mouth.

Merlin felt so drawn to that room in that moment! How he wished to relieve the wounded bear within!

At the door, furniture toppling could be distinguished, and Merlin reached for the handle instantly, only slowed by one of the guards, standing on duty outside, whispered in a voice, 'Try to calm him.' Merlin would have been happy to think that the guard said such things in concern for his King; however there was coolness, a parade of false pretence which gave the remark an irritated tone.

Merlin opened the door.

And what he found was something which caused him much aching: the King was slaughtering one of his curtains, remains of pottery shattered around the table where it had been discarded, and tendrils of wood where chairs and such like had been slashed at.

The room was in complete disarray, but what caused the most concern was how frenzied the King seemed in those moments; his cries cutting.

Merlin, paralysed with the sensations he felt, lost all muscular control, and dropped the food.

The loud clatter, with a brief echo, silenced the King, realising he was not alone.

Merlin approached him quickly, concern overriding where caution should be, affection dominating where fear could be. When he was at an appropriate distance as not to invade his King, but to be heard and hear clearly, the King's heavy panting vibrating the air, his lost soul quaking Merlin's soul, did he speak with as much feeling as he could possibly communicate; all Merlin wanted in those moments, all he desired, was to bring his friend back to sanity!

'I know your upset, Arthur, and I know how hard it is to lose the people you love,' the King flinched, his back still a barrier, but it seemed to soften, 'I went through the same thing when I lost my father.' They had spoken of this shortly after the lake event, and Merlin hoped Arthur was able to distinguish empathy from pity. Merlin knew he could not stand that. 'Guinevere, Morgana... and Uther may all be gone.' Oh how Merlin understood Arthur's sufferings, only increased and intensified by not being able to communicate it all to anybody in fear of appearing weak.

Merlin gave him this now, despite his thick voice he went on:

'But you still have a family,'

The King flinched again.

Merlin wished he could see his face, to see his expression, to see if his words meant anything, so he went to stand in front of his King, carefully raised that heavy head to look at him, careful to remove his hand afterwards- and what waters did he see! What orbs of hopelessness!

It crushed him, truly crushed him!

'Me.'

It barely had volume, damp itself, but life it did have.

Silence embraced them now.

Merlin was able to see that his breathing had reached an ordinary pace, his shoulders fixed naturally rather than tensed or slumped, and his expression, clear, portrayed understanding, and a subtle silent gratitude.

Merlin felt such glee that he had helped alleviate his King, comfort his friend, been able to demolish anxiety. But where one was defeated, another arose with words,

The King swallowed, 'I am not upset at what _Guinevere _has done to me,' Merlin was momentarily confused, convinced that his King loved her, but then truth was revealed, with words detached and eyes woeful ,'I'm upset that someone _could.'_

To have the one he treasured so dearly, believe himself undeserving, unworthy of any basic human affection, deriving these thoughts from experiences that were so unjustly put upon him, Merlin needed him to know otherwise.

All direction of his eyes was lost, and they crumbled with liquid.

The King was obviously surprised by Merlin's actions, the embrace was swift; the demand to adjust his weight sudden to accommodate his servant's as well.

Merlin had never held his King like this before, never had been this close, but he hoped, with all his might and every fibre of being, that Arthur would be able to now understand and realise that he was cared for.

Merlin didn't care for any possibility that this was improper and absurd; it was necessary to stop his friend's suffering, and to communicate affection undoubtedly.

Merlin tightened his arms around the King's neck.

Some moments later, he heard the sword being dropped, its clatter also loud.

Moments after that, he felt arms encase his form, hands large.

Merlin gasped; eyes wide.

The touches were light, restrained, but they spoke vociferously: the touches were barely there, but they were present enough as so Merlin could feel warmth seep through his tunic and onto his flesh.

Merlin tightened his arms around the King's neck, and allowed himself the tender illusion that this is where he belonged.


	10. Love

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 10**

**Love**

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come:  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

**Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare**

The Princess Mithian: oh what a creature!

She had the beauty that Merlin thought no other women could match, for when the sun shone upon her face, the shadows that fell increased definition and notice; her soft skin lit to perfection and in darkness, her complexion was so that she would glow, and viewers could find the sun within her. She was good-tempered, so obliging and gratifying in fact, that Merlin was surprised that she was able to decide upon anything; however she also did not lack will, and carried herself properly, not unaware of her power but not arrogant enough to accentuate it. She held fire close to her breast. Merlin knew no other women more accomplished than her, more temperate, more kind. The man who was to be her husband, would not only find his bride to be unmatched in physical attributes, but in character and disposition also.

Very stunning indeed, Merlin thought.

The Princess was welcomed to Camelot with all the pleasantries that the Kingdom was able to give; her every comfort was seen to and everyone seemed to find her a most agreeable and an amiable spirit.

Merlin had no illusions as to why she was here.

With Guinevere's absence and Camelot without a Queen, it was highly recommended by all that the events of the past should be burnt with a new female guardian.

If only memories could be forgot as easily as burning them!

Upon reflection, Merlin could find her without a fault, and it was the talk and gossip of the castle, the entire city, of how very beautiful the Princess was, and giddy suspicion was high as to why she was here on such short notice.

Merlin tried his best to avoid the conversation detailing her, but wherever he went, wherever his duties took him, he found that she was the prime topic in all communications; some courageous, or foolish few even asked Merlin himself if the King had any _intention _towards her, for they would love Camelot to be blessed with such a face, and it would be a most shameful crime to leave those graces to the grave and leave the world no copy.

Merlin found himself trapped, and despite his best efforts, he felt every pang possible in her presence, whether that be in person or in speech.

Merlin thought it was not in his disposition to truly hate anyone, and found his labours fruitless in trying to loathe the Princess. He knew the feat was limitless as it was pointless, but with a radiance so strong as _he_ was presented with: what he loathed most ardently was to have to _admit _that she was a most worthy candidate for the King's heart as any other fine lady. No matter how much energy he disposed, Merlin could not find a flaw worth attention or exaggeration to soothe the ache that had perpetuated within his chest.

He would be happy, indifferent to Arthur's choice of bride, and resolved to continue his silence. The beating within his breast would have to be satisfied with minimal nutrition: for he could not reveal such truths, and therefore rested the feeling, restrained it continuously as it thrashed and throbbed in refusal; he did not listen to its pleas, despite the futility the knowledge in it would not be rested, or reside, could bring.

**XxXxX**

'Merlin, undress me,' Arthur spoke as they entered his chambers to retire for the night, 'Did you not think the feast went well?'

Yet another banquet in her honour was held, and Merlin was subjected to the torture of seeing the Princess so close to the King. Merlin thought there was a slight comfort in the fact, for every movement she made, he reversed, but settled that to confliction over sharing his throne with someone he didn't know.

The King was smiling as Merlin dismantled his robe, 'Yes,' the answer contained a positive assurance, and that was all.

The King turned and his grin increased, his eyes possessing a somewhat knowing aura, or perhaps smug, Merlin was unsure, 'Do you not think her beautiful, Merlin?'

How could he refuse?

Merlin turned his back in hopes any emotion conveyed would be undetected.

'Yes, she is very beautiful,' Merlin said, his voice distant but his words sensible.

After a beat, he went back to assisting the King.

Once he was comfortable and ready for the night, Merlin was prepared to leave, the air too thick to be handled, that was until the King said something entirely unexpected,

'Do you find mehandsome, Merlin?'

Merlin froze, while adjusting the laces on the King's nightshirt, momentarily. There was complete confidence in the answer that would be given, and, if he were in less of a flustered state, Merlin may have found grounds to be vexed with his arrogance.

'No,' the word leaped out into existence without his conscience thought, and felt his blood rise in temperature and feared his face was just as hot.

He daren't look at the King, who seemed as a menacing presence in front of him, taunting; Merlin had no doubt there was to be a grin on his face, his eyes filled with mirth, which only made him more distressed and took deliberate pains to avoid his pointed look.

He heard the King chuckle softly.

Merlin felt an irregular heartbeat overcome him, and suddenly wondered if his misstep might be recovered.

Stepping away, adjusting the sheets, he spoke again, careful to level his voice,

'Well... you're not ugly,' His mind had abandoned him the moment he heard the King's amusement in a bellow of laughter, the roaring hum in his chest audible.

He looked down, 'Yes,' was his final statement and rushed for the door, no obstacles in his way.

He was almost able to complete his goal until Arthur called out to him, quite innocently, which made his tone obviously teasing, 'Merlin,' he was obliged to stop, and turn.

He steeled his face; put all pains into not portraying what was raging inside.

The King leered with excellently covered hilarity, his eyes piercing, penetrating; his tall, firm, upright figure imposing,

'You're blushing, Merlin.'

Then he turned for the night, signalling Merlin's departure.

Merlin knew not what to do with himself, suddenly very conscious of his colour, and provoked beyond all remark, exited with haste.

**XxXxX**

The morning brought no relief, and Merlin found himself feeling most foolish and highly ashamed.

There was to be a hunting trip today, for the Princess loved hunting.

Merlin would rejoice if someone could find reason why she was not Arthur's match!

During the exercise, Merlin trailed behind as far as was polite and necessary while the King and Lady Mithian spoke gaily together.

His reverie, caught between pain and frustration, was broken by his King's voice,

'Are you not enjoying yourself, Merlin?' his teasing manner had not subsided with sleep, Merlin thought regretfully.

He did not answer, thinking _that _would be answer enough.

The King, smiled to himself brightly, and due to keeping his head forward and watching his step for any protruding roots, what the King said next was definitely a surprise, and almost made him lose balance as much as it snapped his concentration, 'After today, you can do as you wish; in fact, I believe what I'm saying is: you're allowed the day off.'

Merlin now looked to him in shock, confused for his benevolence, but he was only met with a self-satisfied smirk from his King, the act possibly inappropriate for someone of Arthur's title, but he gave the offer in such a way that it somehow seemed to give himself more amusement than it did wound any pride; with this, he rode on to catch up to the deserted Princess, and Merlin was left to lament on what to do with moments such as these, where his pulse pounded so infuriately.

**XxXxX**

After assuring himself the King would be able to handle himself for the rest of the night, preparing clothes and such, Merlin found himself thoughtless as to what to do now.

He was not used to such liberties and found it most infuriating that the King could be able to have such an effect on him: to bring about such disorientation.

However, all feelings ebbed into a warm beating, which Merlin found himself smiling contentedly at for only a moment.

He helped Gaius run a few errands for a few hours, finding complete idleness restless with him. Once Gaius shooed him away, telling him all was well, to enjoy himself, Merlin was left with a feeling of possibility.

He decided to cherish what little time he had, and made his way through the upper district, into the lower town, and out of Camelot.

There was a large dirt path heading south which Merlin enjoyed, took a walk there if ever he could. He found the air most agreeable, the wind a chilling refreshment, and decided to forward his step to the oak tree yonder. It was to the right of the path, healthy in colour and steady in standing, with a bench pleasantly placed beneath it.

Merlin found the bench, sat upon it, and gazed at Camelot in the evening twilight, but no vivid colours were in the sky, for there were clouds, grey and black gathering.

The castle was certainly magnificent, and from the angle to which the tree had grown, upon a bend in the road it was, he found he was out of sight from the main wall.

Now, alone and lonely, Merlin's mind reflected upon the nauseous swell which had been creeping upon him as of late.

All his own desires were futile to obtain, his wishes unforgivable, his prayers unheard, but he did not blame a soul for why he found himself to the brick of tears, only that he should feel anything so strongly at all.

The wind blew past him, darkness came.

He did not know how long he had been seated there, shaking with cold or with the effort to be contained he knew not, but a rustle disturbed all things.

He looked, alert, to his side, and found that _the King_ was appearing out of the alcove of forest beside him.

He immediately protested to look at his gaze, for he was in a most vulnerable position, and wished with passion that he could be anywhere but here!

He stood and walked a few paces, breathing heavily through his chest, yet fast and stammered, eyes tense with tears which he refused to let fall now.

Arthur was behind him.

'How are you Merlin?'

Why was the King here? Merlin wondered, sniffing, was this evening not meant to be his to be spent in peace? He was blown by the intensity in Arthur's concern, and found all function hopeless.

'You must be attached to Camelot, are you not, Merlin?'

Merlin was almost surprised enough to turn around, not understanding why Arthur should ask such a thing, but found his lips quivering to answer with, 'Yes, extremely, I believe.'

There was a pause, and the wind blew once more for the last time.

'And, you would be said to part from it?'

His hoarse voice was tangling with Merlin's ear so sweetly, 'Yes, sire.'

Arthur hummed in consideration and said no more for a few moments.

'Come sit down with me,' Arthur motioned with his hand as if offering, but Merlin still did not turn, could not see his act, could only hear his clothes twist tightly around his body as it too must have twisted.

'No, sire. Indeed I wish-'

'I insist.' This was a stern and unyielding demand, and when Merlin prepared himself enough to be able to look at the King without visible pain, did he find that Arthur was already seated, looking quite seriously ahead of himself.

Merlin sat beside him, and mirrored his position unconsciously, now both staring forward at Camelot as the moon showed her light upon the path.

'What do you think of Princess Mithian?'

Merlin whimpered silently.

This was a blow, yet he would not let it prostrate him.

'You have already asked, sire, and I have told you she is very beautiful.'

'So you believe I should marry her?'

Merlin hesitated, 'If you find it necessary then-'

Arthur hummed again, and Merlin felt the beat fall upon him with suppressing weight.

'Then you _are_ going to be married, sire?' Merlin hoped no dampness seeped into his words.

'Very soon, at least according to rumour,' that answered nothing and did not satisfy Merlin to the smallest degree; he found it clenched at his heart.

'It will be a barrier, sire,' Merlin resumed the conversation, 'from your happiness if you do not love her, and from everything you can do and-'

'And? From what, Merlin?'

'From _me_, sire.'

He said this almost involuntarily, and with his free will crushed, did the tears finally gush out. He did not collapse so to be heard though, he did not sob.

'I believe we are akin, do you not think, Merlin?' Arthur said as if bemused, his voice strong and rumbling in his throat.

Merlin was surprised, his heart was still.

'I've noticed recently Merlin that I hold a strange regard to you, I feel it when we are close: as now, and it calls for you when you are away: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame.' He smiled, melancholy, seeming to be lost in thought, 'And if I am to be married, I am afraid that bond we share will be snapped; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.'

'I could _never-' _

'Look, Merlin, is this not a fine night?'

Merlin sobbed convulsively; for he could repress what he endured no longer; he was obliged to yield, and he was shaken with acute distress.

But upon Arthur's proceeding to talk again, and not to what wrenched Merlin most, he stood up in his state and turned to him, completely broken,

'Do you think that I feel things differently to you? Do you think because I am poor, a servant, and beneath you that I feel nothing, that I have no heart, no soul?' Merlin's voiced trembled, his throat was wet, 'Well I have just as much heart as you, just as much soul, and if I had any power over you I would make it as difficult for you to leave me as it is for me to leave you. I have had these feelings crushing at my chest, without the relief of communicating anything to a single creature; and if you were just to _ask, _I could produce enough emotion that would satisfy even _you_.' Merlin ended in a series of sniffs, breathing overpowering, and proceeded to walk away from his torture, for it was impossible to stay.

There was a flash, and thunder cracked the skies, rumbled to the earth.

'Merlin!' Arthur called, firmly desperate.

'Go away!' Merlin cried, but found that Arthur had grabbed his wrist, arm around his waist, and secluded him to the intimate area.

The clouds cracked around and rain suddenly poured forth down. Both were soaked to the bone within seconds of the torrent.

Merlin struggled for all his worth, with all his might, 'Let go of me!' he shouted.

'Merlin, Merlin, do you trust me?'

'No.'

'Do you think me false?'

'Absolutely.'

'Merlin, I _will not _marry!' He exclaimed with a voice so taunt Merlin feared the release; he stopped trying to escape, and looked into Arthur's eyes, and found his breath escaping him. He had placed his other hand of Arthur's collarbone, but was insensible of it.

'I feel the same,' Arthur pushed out as if it pained him, 'I thought I could overpower it by marrying Guinevere, but in denying my feelings, a force greater than God struck me down, I was punished with dishonour! So, if I cannot marry you, Merlin, then I will not marry at all.'

Arthur breathed at a pace so quick. His eyes were wild, desperate, hopeful and... so very tired.

'I cannot make speeches, Merlin,' he soon resumed, in sincere, genuine tenderness, 'You know what I am. I have blamed you, lectured you, and you have borne it better than I deserve, you see, you understand me. I may be a King, but I am also a man, and you have bewitched me Merlin, body and soul.'

Merlin saw how the pupil pleaded to be understood, begged for his forgiveness, the iris wept around the black, and Merlin then realised that Arthur's face was beaded with tear stains. It was hard to distinguish against the rain, but he found them, and noticed how wet Arthur's hair was.

His heart stopped, he could not believe it: Arthur was telling him the truth.

Mouth agape, he asked,

'Are you earnest?'

Arthur paused to breathe, then answered on the exhale,

'Absolutely.'

Merlin whimpered at the mirror, smiled, found his lips convulsing, as he gazed into Arthur's blue eyes, earnest.

And then, what ecstasy did vibrate, shudder and pleasantly assault his being!

He found his lips tangled into a perpetual smile: to have these sensations of loyalty, friendship, forbearance and _love_ reciprocated by Arthur himself!

The King smiled, allowing himself a victory he found worthy of such displays.

Merlin felt drained, positively empty of all tension, now loose, unravelled.

He heard the rain around him, yet he did not care for it.

He was suddenly aware of how close Arthur was to him, and his eyes darted to his lips momentarily before returning to his eyes when he saw them being licked. Arthur swallowed, his throat muscles moving with the action.

He shivered; a combination of raptures and chill alike, but the latter did not matter, for Arthur's arms were tight, and warm, his frame supporting Merlin's.

Merlin was indeed speechless from his happiness, only strengthened, intensified and lengthened by Arthur's smile, his crooked couple of teeth of the right side of his upper jaw showing and on pearly display, his eyes beaming and slightly tearful, all inhibition to hold them in extinct in Merlin's radiance.

Merlin's hands, completely entrapped within his glee, made a tentative action to accomplish a task he so ever much had desired to do before: he raised them, shaking, to mould with Arthur's cheeks. The move was slow, but not from uncertainty, but from utter overwhelming that he _could, _and that no resistance would be met: all this, from Arthur's tried and tired features, was communicated.

When Merlin's hands were in place, he made note of how every unique Arthur's skin felt, maybe tough ordinarily, however made soft and wet from the water above them. Merlin's heart was beating at a most irregular exhilarated pace: spasms of suppressed sensation bursting from its seams, and the cascading fall did wonderment to his blood flow. And what made it pound harder, more profusely, was the manner in which, upon the contact, Arthur closed his eyes, the lids tensing, leaned into the touch as if it was a treasure, something precious, something that cured him; that Merlin's touch soothed all wounds within.

Merlin gasped at the unexpected reaction, was joyful for it, and merrily feared how he could not contain such feelings, when the object of his desires was so close, and so warm against the rain.

Arthur then licked his lips, looking to Merlin's, and he realised how very soft, and small his breathing was. Arthur then leaned closer, resting his head on Merlin's forehead, closing his eyes, and for a short while, there tete-a-tete was silent, and filled Merlin's veins.

Drink up any decadence that might follow them, the fall was indeed very much worth the landing!

Arthur then broke the spell by straightening his head, and Merlin did the same. He was suddenly very aware of what they were now entitled to and it was both exciting and brilliant. Merlin smiled with joyous nerves. Arthur looked at him intently from beneath his soaked lashes, his blonde hair dampened a darker shade, and Merlin continued to smile, unadulterated, carefree, as did Arthur. He then inched closer, pausing, brushing Merlin's nose, the servant laughed, and also brought himself closer, both breathing tenderly as lips then melted together.

They were still as Merlin wept with euphoria, eyes closed.

Arthur moaned, and continued to kiss Merlin as passionately, as intimately as he could.

The plump padding of Arthur's lips were intoxicating to Merlin, their wet texture and firm pressure stimulating to his pleasures. They moved against his with force, slowly, yet purposefully, nervous yet determined, all with a pure bliss of feeling. Arthur coaxed Merlin to open his lips, and he felt an even wetter muscle caress his lips. Upon knowing what it was, and what it intended, Merlin groaned softly and granted the tongue entrance, mixing it with his own as the beasts stroked, and dazzled together, soothed with dancing desperate lips.

Arthur moved his hands, huge and sweetly invading against Merlin's skin, and slid them under his tunic to find and hold tender, sensitive skin on his lower back.

A warmth, greater than he thought possible, permeated through his body and he brought Arthur closer with his hands, wrapping an arm around his neck, tangled his fingers with the drenched hair, rough against his fingers. Arthur growled strongly yet quietly, as he aligned Merlin's body with his own and pressured the surfaces to meet in perfect harmony, arms coiling around his waist.

Merlin lost himself in that kiss, found absolute ambrosia in Arthur's taste, felt shivers, stammers, starts in his heart and was flooded with elated euphoria.

Heat radiated from each body, adsorbed by the other.

Merlin couldn't breathe after a while, but didn't realise the fact until it came almost deadly, and finding he could not breathe Arthur, they mutually inhaled the air around them, eyes still closed.

In that moment, if Merlin were to die, he thought he'd die happy, and with no regrets.

Contented bliss flowed, and Arthur resumed their previous activity with eagerness and smiles.

When lightning struck a nearby tree, they broke apart abruptly, looking to each other in their exhilaration, and, with Arthur taking Merlin's hand, and kissing him along the way against any vertical surface, whether that be tree or fence, led Merlin back to the castle.

When they approached the courtyard, they found shelter from the thunder, from the storm in an open passage besides the main entrance, supported by pillars.

Here, not caring for onlookers, Arthur pressed Merlin against the stone wall, and licked into his welcoming mouth, caressed by enthusiastic, ecstatic lips.

Their clothes were damp, clinging to their skin, but neither cared when such practises could be accomplished with a most satisfactory result. Neither even flinched when the thunder roared or the rain raced against the stone, against the pillars of the passage.

Merlin knew that he shouldn't let Arthur conquer him completely, but he could not resist, could not resist the warmth he promised with every touch of his hands, every embrace of his lips.

The storm raged above them, loud and boisterous, but they were sheltered.

Hands stroked necks and twisted in hair, fabric was forgotten.

Merlin, a thought entered his mind momentarily, of how no good could come of this, and as he, for a brief few seconds, waited for the rain to pour life down upon them, thought that before he thought he could never hold onto something this _good. _

And for the first time, Merlin believed he was good enough for Arthur.

They had a chance for happiness, and were taking it with fervour and passionate impatience.

Arthur broke their connection this time, and smiled excitedly at Merlin, completely stripped bare of all pretences.

What made the bliss all the more special and moving, was that: Merlin craved Arthur's heart, and here he was, giving it to him, bleeding in his hand.

Merlin surged forward and kissed his King for the unknown time.

They were so reluctant to part, but part they must, and only sweet talking of how the sooner they parted, the sooner they could be together, did ease the action's pain of having to let go.

'Go,' Arthur spoke, still holding Merlin, still kissing him frequently.

Merlin laughed.

'You'll catch a cold,' he said, showing no signs of removal.

Merlin held his large frame closer.

But on a crack of lightning, did they finally stop, but the pounding of their hearts never would.

Arthur still held Merlin's hands, seeming so easy to crush, and decided it would be best to kiss his servant again, grabbing him forcefully, the sensations of light-headedness prolonged.

'I must go,' Merlin spoke finally, punctuated by sudden pecks from Arthur, until he, too, let him go.

Now parted by more than a few paces, Merlin felt the full extent of the weakness in his legs, and never parted his eyes from Arthur.

He walked at an angle, afraid to look away; in case this was a dream, for all attributes of a dream did it hold.

Arthur just grinned, fixed to the spot in the outdoor passage.

'Until tomorrow, Merlin,' Arthur called quietly, so that only he could hear him despite the lack of audience, but loud enough over the bellows of the storm. And Merlin thought him an idol in that moment, for he looked not only all that a man should be, looked every measure tried, but irrevocably happy, and Merlin was the cause.

Merlin smiled, contentedly, shaking with sensations inwardly and exterior, and upon entering the warmth of the castle, only thought one touching thought:

_Just take care, in what you ask of me, Arthur, because I could never say no..._


	11. Stay

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 11**

**Stay**

"Love; it will not betray you  
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free  
Be more like the man you were made to be

And there is a design, an alignment to cry  
Of my heart to see,  
The beauty of love as it was made to be"

**Sigh No More, Mumford & Sons**

Merlin would always look back on the past months with mixed emotions: most happy, such happiness in fact, that if Merlin didn't contain it all, he would surely have burst into laughter wherein people would most definitely believe him mad.

The main cause for such strength of feeling was when King Arthur lifted the ban of magic.

It had been a slow process, for scars that were laid deep into the earth itself could not be healed immediately. Encouraged by what he saw in Merlin, had looked at closely for many a whiles, and from what he thought and had experienced of it himself, believed that his people should, and would, stand equal.

It began with a public announcement in Camelot, spread to the outer regions, by royal decree, that such practises were no longer to be punishable by death, however abuse of the art would result with capital punishment.

Merlin, in those days of the knowledge sinking into the people, and seeping through the land; going to villages that still feared it with Arthur to persuade them otherwise, and waiting still for the response, found not only did the people rejoice on the whole (those with magical connection welcomed back out of hiding, and those hurt by it helped with reconciliation), that their destiny, he and Arthur's, was shaping into something quite real, quite longed for, and yet quite surprising, that in those strange few weeks of the transaction being made; his heart rose to be with Arthur more with every exhale, an increasing gravitation which he could not escape, even if he thought it possible.

He wondered, some days, if the Great Dragon had foreseen _this _and if he had, that he was very right in letting Merlin experience it with the full force that comes from _belonging._

And when things finally settled down, when Merlin and Arthur had many tête-à-têtes, when their each heart had been fully given to the other, in exchange for another; when Merlin breathed so peacefully at night, held in Arthur's arms, and believed they were almost there, a time of peace and prosperity within their reach, did it fall away, taken from them, swept beneath their feet and torn from the light.

Mordred.

Merlin came to truly hate the name.

He had thought, that maybe, he had avoided their fated doom when he had saved that druid boy, who came to the castle lost and afraid, who seemed so weak and harmless: but how deceived Merlin had been.

Mordred, over the years, had learnt that his mother, who he was too young to remember, in a raid carried out by Arthur, enforced by Uther, had died while the army slaughtered his village and butchered the bodies. With the execution of his father, did these feelings find a comfortable nest, and festered.

Such an everlasting pain did he feel, an irresistible anger did arise that could not be quenched until the Pendragon Legacy had been destroyed and uprooted, the poison no longer able to wilt the world.

He had found Morgana, and she too, seeing his hatred, with such a kin in spirit to hers, fuelled his dark desires, while the stars, looking on in horror, hid their fires.

But in the blackness, Morgana did not see what she had created: a powerful sorcerer in his own right, with the will to carry out impossible acts, and then bested his enemies with inhuman cunning and cruelty, did she see a monster before her eyes.

The months passed, and then news of freedom reached her ears.

All past hatred fled her being, remembering indeed Arthur was better than Uther, learned from his mistakes and grieved those he had wronged; she knew her presence would cause concern, but she hoped for faith to still be present in him.

However, Mordred did not share her contentment. He boiled in rage, could not see the good, only acts of a snake waiting to strike at the heart of his people.

She feared for her life, if she were to become disagreeable to him, and fled his company, retreated to caves where she then saw what was to come, and truly, with cries of guilt, knew the death of her brother was not what she wished any longer. And if she were to look on back in her past, and find Mordred now vainer, more loathed, more furious, more corrupt: only she was to blame.

Mordred then, returned to the city, and disguised himself as a loyal knight.

Arthur welcomed him, but Merlin was cautious.

Merlin now wished he had executed a move that would wipe Mordred clean, but he could not do it, from a weak mind or forgiving nature he now honestly, did not know.

Mordred betrayed Arthur's trust, and only used his position to gain resources and now, in the night, threatened Camelot with battle and war.

Arthur, again misled by his kind spirit, looked to Merlin, the one who had helped him build their golden age of hope, and who every day he had smiled at, knew what he did was for his people's sake, but also was a debt or duty to Merlin, and held his hand tighter than he had ever before. In those sorrowful eyes of dreams so close, did Merlin blame himself for their current situation, and loathed the part of himself that could not raise a blade to Mordred's neck.

They rode for Camlann tomorrow.

**XxXxX**

The chambers were dark; only one candle was lit, situated on Arthur's nightstand; it flickered and shivered in the air of the summer night. The opulent colours were sleeping with the night, consumed by darkness in their slumber. The only light was that of the moon, which flowed in through the closed window, the light cool in warmth, the pale blue streaming unto the royal bed, and the near area surrounding it.

'Is there anything that you wish, sire?' Merlin said, as he poured a glass of water, should Arthur be thirsty during the night, and wish to drink something cold.

Arthur looked at him with eyes mourning where he sat on the bed, and replied softly to Merlin's side, 'No.'

Arthur had realised that in Merlin's presence, he was always happy, that he always felt complete, and with Merlin's support, had created something special.

Merlin turned to Arthur then, placing the empty jug down when he saw Arthur's eyes, the loose hold his nightclothes had on his frame, and with a shaking breath, then turned again to leave.

He was stopped by Arthur's hand in his.

'Stay,' Arthur croaked gently, 'please?'

Merlin was forced to look at his master, felt the warmth of his palm, how the fingers curled with his so perfectly, and tried to swallow the heart in his throat.

Still, Arthur, even in his bed things, had the power to triumph over Merlin entirely.

They had been content to look at each other during the day, and all other days since the day of that particular storm, with the knowledge that in the moonlit hours, they could be as fate intended. Of course, when their desire would not be appeased, a few stolen moments of fierce passion was taken in alcoves, beneath stairs, behind doors, to control the constant _need_ to be together, now that they knew they could be.

And occasionally, when Arthur was feeling reckless, he would invite Merlin to his bed.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Merlin allowed himself to be taken in by Arthur's strength, until he had stepped into his breathing, his other hand resting and clenching in the soft fabric of the nightshirt by Arthur broad shoulders, and while looking into skies so very bountiful, allowed himself to be captured by lips bewitching.

Merlin was amazed that even after many times, Arthur's lips could still hold their benevolent enchantment. And what made him glow inside with warmth so very bright: was that no enchantments did entrap either of them. The lips sliding against his own were very much real, and wanting his company. Tongues soon licked seams of lips, were welcomed and engulfed with wetness, heat and lust.

Arthur guided Merlin to his bed, never breaking their contact, both smiling and letting laughter escape as they fell, moving to be more aligned against one another.

Merlin believed he fit perfectly against Arthur, that their shapes were complementary. Where Arthur had masses of masculine muscle, Merlin was lean and slim. He always cherished these moments, while Arthur held him with grips so tight he couldn't breathe, his hands under Merlin's shirt, exciting goose bumps and shivers, rough hands against smooth flesh, while Merlin deepened their kiss with his hands bringing Arthur's head closer, the sounds of fabric whispering only audible against the occasional wet smack of their lips.

Arthur moved his hands to Merlin's neckerchief, untangled the knot and threw it to the side. Merlin felt the fabric leave him and was exhilarated by what was only naturally promised next.

Merlin, at times, thought that if Arthur wanted to, he could snap Merlin if he applied enough force, and Merlin thought that now, as Arthur's large hands lid up his sides, collecting his shirt until it was brunched up enough for removal. Arthur looked to Merlin's chest, sighed, and started to lick Merlin's jaw, the wetness cooling in the evening air, nibbling at the taunt skin, while Merlin mirrored his action.

Soon their shirts were forgotten when the marvel of bare skin was introduced.

And Merlin found Arthur's skin irresistible. He looked at his torso in awe, the muscles built; the skin tense. He treated each part with divine care of his mouth, while Arthur gasped, restraining his moans, while Merlin twirled his tongue around pecking nipples.

When the heat between their legs, continually colliding with promise, had become too tempting, Arthur quickly pushed Merlin over and lay on top of him. The contact of heated flesh was unspeakable, and with hunger in his hazed expression, tousled hair, did Arthur smirk and pull Merlin's breeches down slowly and seductively.

Merlin was allured by the bulge in Arthur's own, but upon being exposed for his sight; spread his legs in natural need.

Merlin's legs were raised to his chest, and in his most intimate area, did Merlin feel the air cold. Arthur smiled at him, and spoke with such tender awe, 'So beautiful, Merlin,' it was the first time either had spoken, and Merlin felt the weight pleasantly. He felt his hole wink at the chills of the night, Arthur staring at the punctured gap between his arse, the cheeks spread by his position. Arthur aided in that, by, with thumb and hands, cupped Merlin's globes and parted them to reveal what, as Arthur looked at, to be rightfully his.

Merlin felt a wanton suck to it, and knew no more sane thoughts.

Arthur's lips teased the entrance, taming it for something bigger by treating it to sweet sensation. Merlin gasped every time Arthur used his tongue around the rim, sometimes gently, others wantonly, groaning at the taste and the way it clenched open for more. Merlin whined, when Arthur pushed forward, his hole sensitive, wanting to be welcoming, and the wet stabs of tongue were ecstasy. Merlin could feel Arthur bury his face there, his nose at Merlin's perineum, the obscene sounds strangely intoxicating as Arthur feasted; spit running down his chin, as Merlin whimpered at the stimulation.

When Merlin was stretched enough that Arthur hit something that made Merlin howl, he then stopped, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, much to the disappointment of Merlin.

But not all was lost, for when Merlin raised his head, he saw Arthur lathering his fingers with his spit. Merlin, after disengaging from coherent thought, let his head fall back on the pillows in desperate waiting.

He remembered Arthur's gaze, his pupils dilated.

And then lips were on his again, a looming body, as Arthur's middle finger caressed the clamping skin beneath his anus, teased the opening rim, the muscles eager and confused. Arthur smiled in their entanglement, felt Merlin's tongue gather his own flavour, and then pushed the digit in.

Merlin gasped loudly, his anus clenching fast on the intrusion, but the way in which Arthur stroked him inside, the way he moved, coaxed Merlin's muscles into relaxation and permitting deeper exploration. Merlin was tight, his walls damp, and Arthur marvelled in the texture, Merlin's moans directing him where to please and focus most.

Now, knowing there was no danger, and melting in the raptures Arthur gave him, Merlin's muscles were eager for more. The rough, calloused finger was not enough, and Merlin moved himself further onto it, nipped Arthur's bottom lip and tongue when he was ready.

Arthur conceded, and carefully, slid in his index finger.

Merlin cried out when they reached, had protruded enough, to a bundle of nerves were Merlin lost his sight momentarily.

Arthur smiled; victory was his.

He continued to tease Merlin, feeling the mouth of it suck them in, greedy for more, deeper, anything to repeat that previous movement.

Instead, only for an instant distracted by Merlin's tongue, stretched his fingers outward occasionally, widening Merlin to accommodate something better.

When the sweet torture had reached its optimum, Arthur withdrew his fingers, the damp walls collapsing as they left, the area utterly moist, as Merlin panted with sweat beading on inch after inch of his skin.

Merlin then raised himself to his elbows, completely aware of what was to follow, but cautious of something first.

Merlin didn't wish for oil tonight.

With his heart pounding against his chest, so hot it almost hurt, and mind lost in animal instinct, yet still conscious of the man in front of him, he looked to Arthur's pain and empathised with a whimper.

Arthur was preparing his cock with the weeping pre-cum.

It looked so painful, the huge head a firm spongy mass of deep blood purple, followed by a thick shaft of such impressive length of darkened red , bound by veins, covered in slime.

Merlin saw Arthur stop, looked to him, and knew he understood Merlin's tongue was eager for a taste.

No words were spoken as he pulled Merlin into a position so he was eye level with Arthur's cock, Arthur himself kneeing and flushed with heat and restraint, head held back.

Merlin wanted to pleasure his master, his King, and grabbed the bulky base lovingly, followed by his mouth bursting with the smell and taste of Arthur's rising arousal.

Merlin engulfed the head, his mouth full, and pleasured the underside with his tongue the best he could. Arthur immediately bellowed with a noise, deep in his chest, and Merlin willed his throat to widen as he took the rest. Arthur panted so very heavily and hardily while Merlin lost his senses in a rhythm of back and forth, using his tongue as best as was possible with its being trapped by Arthur's girth. As Merlin adjusted, gagging only occasionally, and trying at swallowing when he must, Arthur placed his hands in his hair, gripped the strands it hurt on Merlin's scalp, while he moaned, the humming vibrations travelling along the member. Merlin marvelled at the groans he was able to stimulate in Arthur, and increased his efforts, fuelled by a loving enthusiasm. The taste was explosive, the heavy musk thick in the air like smoke, and Merlin would have loved to continue, had it not been for Arthur's seeing him so eager in his ministrations, his peak almost reached and pulled Merlin away.

Merlin was then manoeuvred into his previous position, time meaning everything, while they panted into each other's mouths, eyes closed; sweat tight on their skin, their skin sliding slippery and so hot together, Merlin wrapping his legs around Arthur, the heavier man holding them tightly while the muscles melded to his shape.

Merlin then felt something very prominent, very large, nudge to him; he opened with keen interest. The first slide was momentarily painful, Merlin wincing, so Arthur slowly entered.

The drag of muscle was divine, how Arthur stretched and filled him so completely and so gradually, the heated, moist muscles of both conceding to the pleasure; while Arthur powered through any resistance, plunging deeply and Merlin melting away around him.

They were still for a few moments, just holding each other, kissing at times, others just breathing. Merlin felt his eyes tear, and closed them tighter, but by the way he was held so closely and so preciously, Merlin knew Arthur felt it too.

Then Arthur moved.

It was considerately slow at first, allowing Merlin to adjust, a combination of whimpers and moans portraying the progress.

Then, when the delicious slide was too much, overpowered all their senses and were only left with each other, the smell of skin powerfully potent, did Arthur thrust, and his restrain was lost.

Merlin grit his teeth sometimes, others he groaned loudly, Arthur grunting on each glide: pleasured and overwhelmed.

Arthur's large hands were everywhere, not one inch of Merlin's skin went unexplored and unloved. Merlin's own hands, he placed them among the golden meadow of Arthur's rippling back, settling for Arthur's firm arse, massaging it, kneading it, loving the way the muscles held and moved.

Merlin felt completely consumed by the man above him: he was tremendously trapped, body and soul; his mind and heart belonged to only Arthur, and, on a particular powerful thrust, Arthur pierced deeper into him and hit that sweet spot of sensations, the feelings vibrating his insides, shuddering spasms within exciting such light-headed, shooting sharp euphoria up his spine, did he admit that he never wanted to be without Arthur.

He must have said it aloud, because Arthur kissed again, and never aimed to miss.

So now assaulted with the utter bliss, both were quite incoherent. Arthur's breath was thick against Merlin as he felt his muscles slither around him, sucking him in on each thrust then tugging on him to come back, teasing and treating his cock to paradise, the pleasure cascading through him from that focal point. Merlin's rim, stretched wide, felt as if it would split every time Arthur pulled back, pining.

After many moments, realising he was close, Arthur sped up, thrusts more frequent, harder, his pre-cum making the slides irresistible, Merlin being moved up the bed, legs tight around Arthur and unyielding then, when Merlin was utterly saturated of stimulation, so much so he could feel Arthur in his throat, did he shot to the stars, his entire form convulsing in joy, body arching as he growled.

He felt Arthur's cry, his wet hot semen covering, painting his channel, as he continued to move, riding it out, Merlin milking him of all his seed, settling deep within him like a kiln's fire.

Merlin wanted to drown in the essence of this man; felt like he could.

Their movements came to a natural stop, and then they were still.

Arthur kissed Merlin's neck, Merlin stroked Arthur's hair, let his fingers card through the strands.

Their sweat started to cool.

Both were still shaking silently, pleasure pulsing strongly.

After, what felt like an eternity, Arthur started to withdraw completely. Merlin winced sweetly again as the head caught the rim, leaking, seeping Arthur's release.

He felt so full, so sore, and it was brilliant.

Arthur then fell to the side, after a few seconds, pulling Merlin on top of him.

He laid there, his head resting on Arthur's breast, hearing and feeling his heartbeat steadily, strongly.

He lay there, hoping it would beat a little while longer.

It was a content silence, Merlin wrapped in Arthur.

Then he spoke,

'Merlin,' and the servant was chilled instantly by his tone. He paused, 'if I die,' Many speeches could have followed, but Merlin knew the one he was going to execute, and it was the one that distressed Merlin most, so he silenced Arthur with a kiss.

They exchanged a look, one between tried friends, and Arthur smiled, 'I never was able to suss you out.'

Merlin laughed on an exhale, 'Wouldn't be as fun would it?' and he stroked the hair away that was on Arthur's forehead, just so he could touch him more, and because this man never stopped surprising him.

It was a tender touch, and one Merlin was grateful Arthur allowed.

But seeing that Arthur did indeed wish to speak, Merlin decided to bare his soul, because Arthur deserved it, 'There's nothing that can be said, and there's nothing that can be done,' Merlin held Arthur's face, intensely lost himself in the pupils, 'I will always love you, in all ways, until the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east,' Merlin smiled, because he wanted to laugh at how his heart did swell for this man, 'until the day I die.'

They exchanged silent smiles, tender touches and caring caresses, and when it seemed naturally right, Merlin kissed Arthur one last time, pulled the covers around them, then laid his head against his breast once more, Arthur holding Merlin close, and they fell asleep.

He lay there, hoping it would beat a little while longer.


	12. Death

**Weep You No More Sad Fountains**

**Chapter 12**

**Death**

"All humans will, without exception, eventually die._"_

**Death Note**

Merlin was not sure if the battle had been lost or won.

He looked at the many bodies, covered by the crying mist. They made the landscape shine with the armour, gave it a few more shattered hills.

Merlin could feel his tears weeping from his eyes, the droplets silent. He looked into Arthur's, and saw that his own were like the colours of rain.

But what startled him, and made them flow more, was how Arthur's were still bright, their fire a worthy rival of sapphire, as he coughed and splattered, hanging to Merlin's frame as the sorcerer knelt.

They had met Mordred's army on the field of Camlann.

The battle was bloody.

Clashing of metal; sparks of magic. Cries of fury; wails of loss.

You cannot talk of loss, only experience it.

Merlin had wondered where Morgana was; she was not there.

And, in a moment when he was cornered and had to unleash all he had, then looked ahead of him, he saw Mordred lying on the ground, just another body, but his blade protruded from Arthur's side.

Merlin didn't know what he felt, only a sharp something, as he cried out, rumbled the earth and sped to Arthur to catch him as he fell.

So here they were, the only two left.

Arthur's face was limp, his features, his light fading.

'Come back to me!' Merlin pleaded, holding him closer, then tighter when he felt no reciprocation.

Arthur looked at him, sleepily, drowsily, with a half-smile, as much as his muscles could allow. He reached for Merlin's cheek; Merlin stunned, and wiped it slowly.

'Don't cry for me,' he whispered hoarsely.

'But I can't stop,' Merlin croaked.

When Arthur only smiled, and closed his eyes, Merlin reached for him again, to pull him back.

'We're destined for things greater than this, Arthur,'

Arthur's eyes opened, and with what strength he had, despite the pain, he leaned to kiss Merlin.

Merlin kissed him back.

He felt Arthur's breath, rosy against his lips, fading.

'Thank you, Merlin.'

'For what?' Merlin sobbed loudly, his voice breaking.

Arthur looked at him, looked closely, and found something beautiful.

'I'm not sure that you know, Merlin, that the reason I love you is-'

Arthur stopped, struggling internally, and it quaked in his bones.

Merlin, eyes wide, sought for more, gasping as if he couldn't breathe, 'Is?'

'You,' Arthur roughly spoke, and seemed content, 'Just _you_,' and in his eyes, Merlin saw fondness in abundance, no regrets as such, only that he had more time, or used what he had better, 'Being you,' he whispered on rocks on the exhale.

'I love you too, always have, always will, Arthur, always... Arthur?' He said, franticly caressing his face, soul in frenzy.

Arthur would have answered him, but his jaw muscles were clenched, his teeth gritted hard together. His heart was pounding within his chest like a small drum, not in its usual steady march but in a wild, arrhythmic abandon. He could feel every vein and artery in his body threading fire through his frame; if it was not ice that they pumped: he could not tell.

Merlin watched in silent horror, for once, powerless to prevent it.

He died.

Merlin froze, knew not what to do, and was numb.

His heart juddered and syncopated, and if it could scream, it would have.

Birds flew from the nearby trees, after being disturbed by a man's cry.

Merlin sobbed for a long time, allowing himself to lose his composure, his mind.

There was something disgustingly surreal about holding a limp body; one that you knew could be warm to touch.

Merlin looked around him, desperate, alone, and saw that it was dawn.

He looked to the snowy mountains, and saw how Heaven's sun did gently waste them.

Then he heard a voice within speak up.

_Weep you no more, sad fountains: what need you flow so fast? _

_Sleep is a reconciling, a rest that peace begets:_

_Doth not the sun rise smiling  
When fair at even he sets?_

Merlin lay on top of Arthur's body, put his head to where his heart was, the chainmail icy.

_Rest you then, rest sad eyes._

_Melt not in weeping, while he doth lie sleeping._

Merlin sniffed, and his eyes started to dry.

_Softly, softly, now softly,_

He closed them, placing his hand in Arthur's cold one.

_Softly lie sleeping..._

**XxXxX**

**Epitaph:**

_You cannot say to the sun, 'more sun.'_

_You cannot say to the rain, 'less rain.'_

_They were bound, in life, to be separated. _

_But by some extraordinary kindness, destiny gave them a chance to be happy._

_For these are not memoirs of an Emperor, nor are they memoirs of a Queen._

_No._

_These are memoirs of another kind._

**XxXxX**

**A/N:** Well, I guess I'll say, 'The End' then.  
I hope you enjoyed it and all, I certianly enjoyed writing it!  
I want to thank all of my support for getting this out, so be prepared for a list:  
**chaz_collin** for her awesome betaing, and for your general laid back, stressy nature helping me along.  
**silver_falcon24** for the !AMAZING! art, I love it all, the shades and everything and *insert crazy dance*  
**achelseabee** for the !FANTASTIC! cover art, and for unknowingly inspiring me to even wrtie this with that piece ^_^  
**the_muppet** for being just a brilliant mod and helper for everyone - who answered all my questions which I hope didn't kill them inside ;) x  
**Disclaimer/Influences: **Oh my god! So many influences! Okay, first off, I do not own the quotes or Merlin: and some of the material in this story was either based upon or paraphrased from several sources, a few to be: Sense & Sensibility, Prdie & Prejudice, Emma, Jane Eyre, Taylor Swfit, Avril Lavigne & U2 lyrics, Avater:The Legend Of Aang/The Last Airbender (believe it or not), Stardust, Shakespeare, Memoirs Of A Geisha - I'm sure there's more, but that's all I can think of at the moment ;)

So, I guess I'll say, 'MerthurDreamer Out'  
*flies away*


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